Humorous  Verse 


Madeline  Bridges 


AMERICAN  LIBRARY  ASSOCIATION 

SOLDIERS  AND  SAILORS 
CAMP  LIBRARY 


The  Open  Book 

HUMOROUS   VERSE 


By 

Madeline  Bridges 


NEW    YORK 

Ube  Knickerbocker  press 
MCMXV 


COPYRIGHT  1915 

BY 
MARY  AINGE    DEVERE 


DEDICATED 

To  My  Friends  of  the  Firelight  Circle 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

FATE  AND  LACE  WORK 3 

MY  NEIGHBOR 4 

His  ANSWER 5 

THE  MAD,  MAD  HATS 6 

To  EVERY  ONE 8 

A  FREAK  OF  NATURE 9 

THE  CRY  OF  THE  HOSTESS  10 

HER  LOGIC 12 

THE  MASCULINE  VIEW 13 

ANDY'S  WIDDA         ......  14 

THE  WELCOME  MAN 16 

BESIDE  HER  HAMMOCK 17 

THE  PHOTOGRAPH 18 

METAPHYSICAL        ......  19 

BETWEEN  THE  LINES 21 

CHANGED .22 

HER  MILKING  PAIL 23 

THE  CUP-BEARER    ......  25 

THE  WAY  OF  IT 26 

WERE  ROBIN  HOOD  ALIVE  To-DAY  ...  27 

AFTERWARD    .......  28 

His  MUSINGS 29 

SPRING  STIRRINGS 31 

v 


vi  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  OLD,  OLD  FASHION           ....  32 

SOUVENIRS 33 

A  VICTORY 34 

Too  RESPECTFUL 35 

A  CURED  HEARTACHE 36 

BROKEN  THREADS 37 

HER  PERFECT  LOVER 38 

CONVINCED 39 

SHE'S  KIND  AS  SHE  Is  FAIR       ....  40 

JIM                                                                           .  41 

THE  POINT  OF  VIEW 43 

WID  THADY'S  PIPE  BESIDE  THE  DOOR         .         .  44 

THE  POET'S  WIFE 45 

WHAT  WILL  PEOPLE  SAY  ?  .        .         .46 

THE  SIMPLE  CITY  FOLK 47 

A  NEEDED  CHARITY         .....  49 

CAR-FARE 51 

His  INTERPRETATION        .....  52 

A  DIFFERENT  TUNE 53 

A  CONUNDRUM        ......  54 

A  GIRL 55 

A  COGITATION         .         .         .  .         .56 

A  SKETCH 57 

As  IT  SHOULD  BE 58 

A  WOMAN'S  SORROW         ...  -59 

A  FAIR  SINNER 61 

WHAT  GLADYS  SAID          .....  62 

ONE  SUMMER           ......  63 

'TwixT  CUP  AND  LIP 64 


CONTENTS  vii 

PAGE 

YES,  OR  No? 65 

EXPLAINED 67 

THE  FATAL  TOPIC 68 

ROSES 69 

Two  VIEWS  OF  IT 70 

A  SEA-SIDE  HERMIT 71 

YEARS  OF  DISCRETION 72 

THE  POSTMAN 73 

A  PESSIMISTIC  REVERY 75 

A  BY-GONE  JOY 77 

THE  WHOLE  STORY 78 

LOVE'S  HOUR 79 

PEGGY 80 

HER  PUZZLING  WAYS 81 

BLUE  EYES  AND  BROWN 82 

SMILES  vs.  TEARS 84 

"IT" 85 

THE  EASTER  GIRL 86 

A  USEFUL  BLIZZARD 87 

REFUSED 88 

THE  QUEST  OF  THE  PILGRIMS    ....  89 

THE  HAPPIEST  TIME 90 

A  CLEVER  MAN       ......  91 

Two  PHANTOMS 92 

AWAY  WITH  THEM!           .....  93 

'Tis  TIME  TO  RISE 94 

A  STUDY 95 

THE  VANQUISHED  MAN    .....  96 

A  HOPELESS  CASE  ......  97 

Two  INVITATIONS 98 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

WHAT  SHE  DID  NOT  SAY 101 

HER  TYRANT  MASTER      .....  102 

THE  FALSE  ORACLE 102 

AT  DAWN 104 

MULTIPLICATION 105 

A  FREE  SLAVE 105 

THE  MAIDEN'S  AIM          .....  106 

A  GRADUATE  .......  107 

ON  THE  YACHT 107 

SILENCE          .......  108 

THE  OUTLOOK 108 

HER  WAY  OF  WAITING 109 

IRISH  COURTSHIP no 

POETIC  JUSTICE        .         .         .         .         .         .113 

WHAT  LIKE  Is  A  LOVER 114 

THE  OLD,  OLD  STORY 115 

CONSISTENT 116 

THE  CRY  OF  THE  REVIEWERS   .         .         .         .117 

THE  I  OF  ME 119 

WHY?  1 20 


THE  OPEN  BOOK 

"  The  Book  of  my  Heart  is  all  my  own — 
No  leaf  is  turned,  and  no  page  is  shown 

To  any  outside  beholder." 
Proudly  she  spoke,  but  she  did  not  know 
That  man  and  woman,  and  friend  and  foe, 

Were  reading  it,  over  her  shoulder  ! 


FATE  AND  LACE  WORK 

OF  course,  I  loved  him.      (One,  two,  three, 
And  slip  the  fourth.)    Dear  fellow,  yes! 

He  loved  me  madly.     (Now  you  see, 
This  time  you  take  two  stitches  less.) 

Quite  tall,  well  built,  his  eyes  were  gray. 

(You  pull  that  thread  the  other  way, 

Two  loops.)     A  dimple  in  his  chin; 

The  sweetest  hair!     (My  dear,  observe.) 
He  was  a  poet.     (These  begin 

The  second  row,  and  make  the  curve.) 
I'm  sure  you'd  like  to  read  the  rhymes 
He  wrote  me,  (Round  the  edge  three  times.) 

Poor  boy.     It  was  so  sad  to  part ! 

He  died  quite  young.     (Another  one 
But  not  so  tight.)     It  broke  my  heart — 

(There,  that  is  very  nicely  done !) 
He  was  my  first  love,  and — my  last. 
(Be  careful,  dear — don't  go  so  fast.) 

My  husband?     Ah,  so  good  and  kind! 

I  met  him  (Now  the  pattern  shows.) 
In  Europe.     We  were  married  (Mind 

That  turn.)     Well,  yes,  as  marriage  goes, 
I'm  happy.     (Keep  the  thread  quite  straight 

Or  it  will  tangle.)    Such  is  Fate! 
3 


THE  OPEN  BOOK 


MY  NEIGHBOR 

I'D  give  my  heart  to  hope,  and  my  hands  to 

daily  labor; 
I'd  have  my  home  a  cottage,  set  in  a  space 

of  green, 

And  you  to  be  my  neighbor — my  friendly  next- 
door  neighbor — 

With,  maybe,  nothing  more  than  just  a  wild- 
rose  hedge  between. 

I'd  wander  in  my  garden  when  the  twilight 

dews  were  falling ; 
I'd  dig  and  hoe,  and  spade  and  sow  in 

warmth  of  rosy  morns — 
And  I'd  linger  often,  near  the  hedge,  in  hope 

to  hear  you  calling, 

For  a  hedge  is  soon  jumped  over — both 
the  roses  and  the  thorns. 

Oh,  if  you  were  my  neighbor,  my  charming 

winsome  neighbor, 
My  courting  would  be  night  and  day,  and 

never,  never  done — 
I'd  tell  you  tales,  I'd  sing  you  songs,  I'd  play 

on  flute  and  tabor — 


HIS  ANSWER  5 

As  shepherds  woo,  I'd  woo  you,  dear,  and 

woo  till  you  were  won. 
Then  you  would  be  my  neighbor,  my  nearest, 

dearest  neighbor; 
For  evermore  my  neighbor — my  own,  and 

only  one ! 


HIS    ANSWER 

"BEFORE  you  ask  my  vow,"  she  said, 

"Dear,  listen  to  this  word: 
You're  not  the  first  man  I  have  loved, 

Nor  second, — nay — nor  third." 

"Am  I  the  fourth  or  fifth,"  he  asked 
With  scorn,  "or  were  there  more?  " 

"Now,    don't    be    hurt    and    grieved,"    she 

sighed — 
"But,  as  I  said  before — 

"'Tis  not  my  first  love,  dear, — but  hark!" — 

He  felt  her  gentle  touch — 
"I  promise  it  shall  be  my  last : 

Now — can  you  say  as  much? " 

A  silence  fell — upon  her  hand 

He  bowed  his  manly  head. 
"  My  love,"  he  said — "my  own — my  bride!" — 

But — that  was  all  he  said! 


THE  OPEN  BOOK 


THE   MAD,   MAD   HATS 

OH  the  hats  and  the  mad,  mad  hats ! 

The  tiles,  the  turbans,  the  pokes,  the  flats — 

Hats  pushed  back  from  the  brow,  and  those 

Tilted  forward,  to  hide  the  nose — 

The  infant's  hat — the  hat  of  the  pope — 

The   straight   square   hat — the   hat   with    a 

slope — 

Hats  that  present  us  a  dish  of  grapes, — 
These  are  the  hats  of  the  different  shapes ! 

Oh  the  hats,  made  of  everything — 
The  hats  that  the  changing  seasons  bring! 
Butterfly  hats,  with  dangling  veils, 
Fur  hats,  trimmed  with  animals'  tails, 
Hats  that  challenge,  like  impish  elves, 
Hats  that  look  ashamed  of  themselves 
(And  well  they  may  be — on  any  head!), 
Hats  that  make  us  wish  we  were  dead ! 

Oh,  the  hats,  as  they  come  and  go, 
And  come  again  to  our  utter  woe ! 
Hats  without  brim,  hats  without  crown — 
Hats,  like  a  plate  turned  upside  down — 


THE  MAD,  MAD  HATS  7 

Hats  of  tinsel,  and  tangled  lace — 
Hats  that  are  openly  a  disgrace — 
Hats  that  would  cause  a  saint  to  swear, — 
These  are  the  hats  that  the  women  wear ! 

Oh,  the  hats  that  they  dare  to  wear! 
I  gaze  as  I  pass,  and  scowl,  and  stare, 
And  mutter  and  mumble  and  grind  my  teeth 
And  wondering,  ask,  if  the  brains  beneath 
Have  no  more  sense  than  these  mad,  mad  hats ! 
My  thoughts  go  whirling  like  dizzy  bats. 
Only  one  answer  I  find — and  that's — 
No  one  with  brains  could  wear  such  hats ! 


THE  OPEN  BOOK 


TO  EVERY  ONE 

STOP  telling  people  what  to  do — 

Stop  it  this  day — this  hour ! 
Check  the  advice  you're  yearning  to 

Impart — restrict  your  power 
To  guide, — for  oh,  the  bliss,  the  peace, 
Could  counselling  and  advising  cease ! 

Stop  telling  people  what  to  do ! 

Then,  seeing  where  you're  at, 
Others  may  take  your  point  of  view — 

Picture  the  joy  of  that ! 
Never  to  meet  the  maddening  thrust 
Of  "Why  don't  you?"  "You  ought,"  "You 
must." 

Stop  telling  people  what  to  do ; 

For  neither  young  nor  old 
Are  heeding,  any  more  than  you 

Have  done  as  you've  been  told. 
Good  counsel  is  that  sort  of  cake 
That  all  can  give,  but  none  will  take. 


A  FREAK  OF  NATURE 

Stop  telling  people  what  to  do, 
And  inward  turn  your  eyes ; 

There  you  will  find  the  blunderer  who 
Most  needs  your  sage  advice; 

There  you  will  find  the  only  one 

Poor  blockhead  you  are  fit  to  run ! 


A  FREAK  OF  NATURE 

AN  ugly  girl,  a  handsome  man — 
And  no  one  can  tell  whether 
It  comes  by  Fate's  especial  plan; 
But,  given  a  corner,  and  a  fan, 
You'll  find  them  there,  together. 

An  ugly  man,  a  handsome  girl — 
This  rule,  too,  seems  most  certain; 
Wherever  dancers  glide  and  twirl, 
They're  sitting,  safe  from  glare  and  whirl, 
Paired  off,  behind  a  curtain. 


10  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


THE  CRY  OF  THE  HOSTESS 

OH,  I  am  weary,  heart  and  hand, 

And  warped,  and  worn,  and  strained — 

So  tired  of  entertaining,  and 
Of  being  entertained ! 

Could  I  but  once  pay  up  the  calls 

That  now,  alas,  I  owe, 
I'd  gladly  hug  my  four  home  walls 

And  from  them  never  go. 

And  with  what  joy  I'd  waltz  about — 
Yea,  with  what  heartfelt  glee — 

If  no  one  came  to  ask  me  out, 
Or  ever  called  on  me. 

So  scared  is  my  affrighted  soul 

Of  dinners,  luncheons,  teas, 
I'd  build  a  house  at  the  North  Pole 

To  get  away  from  these. 

Oh,  what  delight  to  sit  and  gaze 

Over  the  wastes  of  snow, 
Quite  sure  no  form  would  cross  the  space — 

Either  of  friend,  or  foe! 


THE  CRY  OF  THE  HOSTESS  II 

Fearing,  nor  woman,  man,  nor  child, 
Nor  even  the  postman's  ring — 

The  cards  and  invitations  piled 
That  he  is  sure  to  bring. 

Yea,  could  I  pay  my  calls  and  see 

My  list  quite  clear  again, 
My  score  wiped  out,  my  tablets  free, 

My  mind  at  ease.  .  .  .     Ah,  then — 

I'd  ask  of  Fate  this  blessing  dear 
Of  all  dear  blessings  known — 

For  one  long,  idle,  listless  year 
Just  to  be  let  alone ! 


12  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


HER  LOGIC 

I  MAY  not  kiss  you,  sweetest  ?    Why, 
Since  all  the  world  to  love  is  molded? 

Look  how  the  happy  butterfly 
Kisses  the  rose  and  isn't  scolded ! 

See  how  the  stream  with  tender  lips 
Its  green  and  mossy  margin  presses, 

And  even  the  stately  willow  dips 
Her  beauty  to  the  tide's  caresses. 

I  may  not  kiss  you?    Tis  absurd 
To  scorn  the  truth  all  nature  traces! 

The  very  breeze,  upon  my  word, 

Stands  still,  and  kisses  both  our  faces. 

"Quite  right,"  she  said,  "for  breezes,  John, 
For  butterflies  and  streamlets,  dearest ; 

I  notice,  though,  they  soon  pass  on 

To     kiss — the    next    thing     that    comes 
nearest ! " 


THE  MASCULINE  VIEW  13 


THE  MASCULINE  VIEW 

"SHE'S really  a  lovely  girl,"  he  said, 

"A  blonde,  and  extremely  fair, 
With  a  gracefully  small  and  classic  head." 

"Indeed?    And  what  did  she  wear?" 

"Her  eyes — you  know  those  eyes  like  mist, 

Just  the  color  of  skies,  at  dawn, 
With  lashes  the  longest,  silkiest — " 

"Yes — yes,  but  what  had  she  on?" 

"I  liked  her  manner.    Its  gentle  charm 

Suggested  a  soul  at  rest; 
And    then — her   smile    was    so    sweet    and 
warm — " 

"Good  gracious !    How  was  she  dressed ? 

"She  must  have  worn  some  sort  of  a  gown  ?  " 
"Why — yes — that  is  certainly  clear; 

But  I  did  not  see  it,  I  frankly  own — 
I  saw  only  her,  my  dear!" 


14  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


ANDY'S   WIDDA 

WE  allus  fix  his  grave  up  good, 
Car'line  'n'  me — at  least  she  does. 

Poor  Andy !    When  he  fell  I  stood 
Right  by  him — so — as  if  it  wuz 

Me  here — him  there.    I  broke  his  fall 

With  a  quick  grab,  but — that  wuz  all — 
He  left  his  wife  a  widda. 

'N'  that  wuz  what  he  dreaded,  too, 
From  firs'  to  las'.     He  used  to  say: 

"Oh,  you're  all  right.    Ef  I  wuz  you 
I  wouldn't  car'  much  either  way; 

But  when  you  know  you're  goin'  to  leave 

Some  one  behind  to  fret  'n'  grieve 
'N'  live  a  lonely  widda!  " 

He  had  her  pictur' — jes'  a  girl, 

A  pleasant  young  thing — well  enough ; 

But  Andy  'lowed  she  were  the  pearl; 
The  best,  tip-topest  kind  of  stuff ! 

He  used  to  look  'n'  look  'n'  smile 

'N'  say:  "Old  boy!  she  ain't  the  style 
Now,  is  she,  fer  a  widda  ?  " 

'N', my!    I  got  that  pictur' yet. 

I  kep'  it  kinder  for  his  sake 
When  I  fetched  home  his  things  'n'  met 

His  folks  'n' — her.    I  hed  to  break 
The  news,  'n'  mighty  hard  to  do, 
Seein'  I'd  brung  poor  Andy  too, 
Home  to  his  little  widda. 


ANDY'S  WIDDA  15 

Hard  work,  I  tell  ye,  boys,  that's  so ! 

'N'  sakes!  ye'd  oughter  heard  her  cry! 
Be  good  'n'  glad  you  didn't  though; 

But — well,  she  ca'med  down  by  'n'  by, 
'N '  then  I  hed  to  tell  about 
Jes'  how  the  whole  blame  scrape  come  out 
To  that  inquirin'  widda. 

'N '  so  on  Decoration  Day 

I  git  his  grave  up  extra  fine, 
Or — Car'line  does.    I  hev  to  stay 

Most  of  the  time  in  marchin*  line — 
A-filin'  here,  salutin'  there — 
Us  vetterns  got  to  do  our  share 
Fer  every  soldier's  widda. 

But  Andy,  poor  old  boy !  his  grave — 
We  tend  to  that,  or — Car'line  does; 

'N'  then,  of  course,  she  likes  to  have 
Her  little  quiet  cry,  becuz — 

Well,  jes'  becuz — 'twixt  you  'n'  me — 

It's  on'y  natural — for,  you  see, 
I  married  Andy's  widda. 

'N'  so  it's  kinder  comforting 

When  Decoration  Day  comes  round 

With  the  rememberies  it  bring 

Of  them  old  comrades  underground, 

It's  really  comforting  to  drink 

Poor  Andy's  health  'n' — well,  to  think 
His  wife  ain't  left  a  widda. 


16  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


THE  WELCOME  MAN 

OF  men  and  lovers,  brothers — all — 

He  is  the  welcome  one ! 
Whenever  he  may  choose  to  call 

I  gladly  rise,  and  run 
To  meet  and  greet  him  with  a  smile 
And  eager  beating  heart,  the  while. 

At  morn  if  I  am  not  "in  trim" 

And  other  fellows  come, 
I  cleverly  retreat.    To  him 

I  always  am  at  home — 
With  bangs  in  crimp,  I  boldly  stand 
And  willingly  extend  my  hand. 

And  yet  his  presence  sometimes  brings 
Regret,  and  pain,  and  blame, 

And  other  aggravating  things — 
No  matter !    Just  the  same 

I  fly  to  ope  the  door  and  see 

If  he  a  letter  have  for  me ! 


BESIDE  HER  HAMMOCK  17 


BESIDE  HER  HAMMOCK 

THE  warm  leaf -shadows  fleck  her  face  and  hair 
And  waver  down  to  kiss  her  feet,  and  then, 

No  doubt,  go  wavering  off  some  other  where, 
While  I — how  blest  above  a  world  of  men ! — 

I  am  allowed  to  sit,  and  gently  stir 

Her  hammock,  now  and  then,  and  talk  to  her. 

But  too  much  bliss,  in  man's  imperfect  state, 
Ceases  ere  long,  to  bless;  hence,  as  I  swing, 

I'm  silently  rebelling  against  Fate 
And  getting  very  weary  of  this  thing; 

And  yet  I  sit  and  smile,  the  while  I  yearn 

For  some  one  else  to  come  and  take  a  turn. 

Still,  there's  one  thought  which  makes  me 

almost  gay, — 

To  know  that  other  fellows  fret  and  pine 
And  grind  their  teeth,  watching  this  hammock 

sway. 

They  little  dream  that  I  am  grinding  mine; 
And  so  life  goes,  and  never  can  one  guess 
How  much  is  real  of  seeming  happiness. 


18  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


THE  PHOTOGRAPH 

LOOKED  Cleopatra  thus,  when  Antony  gazed, 
And  all  the  world  beside,  upon  her  grace  ? 
Had  Troy's  bewildering  Helen  such  a  face? 

Eyes  like  to  these,   the  girl  that  Petrarch 
praised  ? 

Was  the  fair  Mary  Magdalen  more  fair? 

The  dear  Madonna  of  a  purer  mold? 

As  calm,  the  chaste  Diana  (and  as  cold)  ?   k 
Great  Joan  worthier  to  do  and  dare? 

Meeker,  betimes,  could  meek  Griselda  prove? 

Zantippe,  half  as  saucy  to  her  slave? 

Aspasia,  of  a  loftier  tone — as  grave? 
Or  Eve  more  warmly  formed  for  life  and  love  ? 

I  ask  these  questions,  with  my  brain  a-whirl, 
Of  you,  my  sweetheart,  twentieth-century  girl. 


METAPHYSICAL  19 


METAPHYSICAL 

"  You  cannot  speak  of  what  you  feel  ? 

But  why? "  she  asked  him,  as  they  walked. 
The  moon's  first  ray  began  to  steal 

Across  the  garden  where  they  talked. 

"Is  it  too  deep  for  words — too  high, 
Too  sad,  too  bad — your  thought  of  me? 

Come  now — take  courage,  frankly  try 

To  speak  your  mind.    Be  brave, "  said  she. 

"You  wish  me  to  be  true  ?  "  he  sighed. 

"I  do."    "And  brave?"    " Yes— brave  and 

true." 
"But  if  the  truth  should  hurt  your  pride, 

And  to  be  brave  would  anger  you?  " 

She  smiled  with  gentle  tolerance. 

"That  I  have  faults  I  quite  well  know; 
Yet  speak — for  truth's  sake  I  will  chance 

Or  stinging  shaft  or  hurting  blow. 

' '  Why  should  not  soul  respond  to  soul 
Without,"  she  said,  "this  wretched  art? 

These  poor  pretenses  that  control 
The  earnest  impulse  of  the  heart?  " 


20  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

They  paused.    He  seemed  as  one  distraught, 

And  as  he  quietly  drew  near, 
And  stooped  his  head,  she  merely  thought 

He  meant  to  whisper  in  her  ear. 

But  no  such  thing  the  villain  meant. 

"Words,"  he  remarked,  in  thoughtful  mood, 
"Too  often  fail  of  their  intent, 

And  are,  at  best,  misunderstood. 

"In  that  I  think  and  feel  for  you 
(Forgive  me),  action  must  eclipse 

All  speech  in  being  frank  and  true." 
He  kissed  her  square  upon  the  lips. 

She  turned  away  with  cheeks  aflame, 
With  angry  tears — he  saw  them  fall — 

"Men,  men,"  she  sobbed,  "are  all  the  same." 
She  did  not  blame  herself  at  all. 

And  yet  the  chances  are  that  he, 
Altho'  the  garden  walks  were  dim, 

Might  have  remained  quite  sane  had  she 
Not  too  completely  cornered  him. 


BETWEEN  THE  LINES  21 


BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

DEAR  Mr.  Raymond,  (Dearest  Ned!) 
My  mother  wishes  I  should  write 

(She  does  not  wish  it  half  as  much 
As  /  do,  darling!)  to  invite 

Your  presence  at  bridge  whist,  (Of  course, 
You  hate  it,  dear — I'm  glad  you  do!) 

On  Wednesday  evening.  She  has  planned 
A  pleasant  party  (I  have,  too !) 

And  hopes  you'll  come,  if  not  engaged. 

(Of  course  you  will !    I  mean  to  get 
Old  Hodge  and  Mrs.  Winks  to  fill 

Our  places —  yours  and  mine !)    Please  let 

Dear  Mama  know  if  she  may  count 

Upon  your  coming  (Yes,  she  may). 
She  sends  her  very  best  regards, 
And  I  am  (more  than  I  can  say), 
Sincerely  yours, 

J.  E.  VAN  NESS. 
(Your  little,  loving  girlie,  Jess !) 


22  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


CHANGED 

WE,  who  were  lovers  so  warm  and  near 
When  spring's  young  buds  were  growing, 

Walk  to-day  through  the  woodlands  drear 
With  the  dead  leaves  round  us  blowing. 

Here  is  the  path  where  my  timid  arm 
First  dared  in  its  clasp  to  fold  her, 

And  here  by  the  clear  stream's  songful  charm 
Her  cheek  first  touched  my  shoulder. 

And  yonder — what  passionate  dream  is  this — 
What  breath  through  the  silence  sobbing? 

The  pulsing  thrill  of  an  endless  kiss, 

Or  the  sound  of  a  heart's  wild  throbbing? 

We  walk  as  of  old,  but  we  walk  apart, 

Through  the  well-known  nooks  and  spaces; 

We  stand  no  more  with  heart  pressed  to  heart 
In  the  lonely  beautiful  places. 

But  I  follow  mutely  her  footstep  slow 

Through  the  cool  bright  autumn  weather, 

Because — we  were  married  six  months  ago 
And  are  used  to  being  together ! 


HER  MILKING  PAIL  23 


HER  MILKING  PAIL 

WHEN  Doris  took  her  milking  pail 

To  cross  the  dewy  meadow, 
The  eastern  sky  was  golden  pale, 

The  valley  lay  in  shadow; 
I  followed  slowly,  not  too  near, 
And  softly,  lest  the  maid  should  hear. 

The  wet,  white  daisies  bent  to  touch 

Her  slender  foot,  and  kiss  it; 
I  envied  them  this  pleasure,  much, 

Since  I'd  been  doomed  to  miss  it; 
And  thought  the  flowers  were  treated  far 
More  kindly  than  some  lovers  are ! 

Behind  a  thorn  I  stood  to  watch 
Her  coax  the  cow,  and  chide  her, 

And  humming  at  a  merry  catch, 
Set  the  small  stool  beside  her; 

While  freshly  as  she  could  have  wished 

The  milk  through  dimpled  fingers  swished. 

Thought  I:  "This  chance  I  must  not  miss! 
Her  milk  pail  home  I'll  carry; 


24  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

And  in  return,  demand  a  kiss; 

For  milkmaids  are  not  chary, 
The  poets  sing,  if  swains  be  brave; 
Hence,  my  reward  I'll  boldly  crave." 

But  when  at  length  I  would  have  stept 
Toward  the  maid  with  fervor, 

Young  Stephen  o'er  the  hedge  had  leapt 
With  like  intent  to  serve  her; 

And  lest  his  chance  might  later  fail, 

Took,  first,  a  kiss,  and  then,  the  pail! 

Unseen,  I  sought  a  shaded  path, 

And  left  the  lovers  cooing; 
But  now  my  verse  a  moral  hath: 

Whatever's  worth  the  doing 
You'll  find — each  day  the  story  tells — 
Is  being  done  by  some  one  else! 


THE  CUP-BEARER  25 


THE  CUP-BEARER 

To  Dorothy's  house  I  often  go 
When  the  late  sweet  afternoon  sun  is  low, 
For  I  know  that  Dorothy  likes  to  see 
Me  come,  and  ask  for  a  cup  of  tea. 

The  cup  is  served  by  her  Irish  maid 
Nora,  the  beauty,  whose  lashes  shade 
Those  wonderful  eyes  of  Irish  blue — 
Matchless  forever,  in  depth  and  hue ! 

I  talk  to  Dorothy,  Heaven  knows  what, 
For  the  coal-black  ripples  and  twisted  knot 
Of  Nora's  riotous  lovely  hair 
Set  me  staring,  as  idiots  stare. 

I  gaze  on  her  cheeks'  young  crimson  rose, 
Her  roguish  dimples  and  saucy  nose, 
Her  teeth  like — no,  there  never  were  pearls 
To  equal  the  teeth  of  the  Irish  girls ! 

Ah,  what  would  stately  Dorothy  think 
If  she  but  knew  while  I  drink  and  drink 
And  talk  to  her,  logic — philosophy — lore, 
That  I  look  at  Nora,  and  say  still  more? 


26  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

But  no  answer  comes — neither  look,  nor  sign, 
Nor  sigh — to  these  silent  words  of  mine. 
Though  Nora  knows  I  am  drinking  tea 
Because  she  carries  the  cup  to  me! 


THE  WAY  OF  IT 

SHE  kept  his  flowers,  and  in  a  book 
She  pressed  them,  with  a  written  date, 

To  show  him,  ere  his  leave  he  took, 
That  she  had  felt,  at  any  rate. 

He  knew  her  tears  were  falling,  while 
He  ground  his  teeth,  and  turned  away, 

Lifting  his  hat,  with  one  hard  smile — 
Even  "good-bye"  he  did  not  say. 

No  date  he  wrote,  he  kept  no  flower, 
He  made  no  sign  of  heart's  regret. 

She  thought  of  him — perhaps  an  hour — 
He  still  is  trying  to  forget ! 


WERE  ROBIN  HOOD  ALIVE  TO-DA  Y      27 


WERE  ROBIN  HOOD  ALIVE  TO-DAY 

WERE  Robin  Hood  alive  to-day, 

Full  fain  would  he  rejoice 
To  find  fair  woman,  every  way 

So  suited  to  his  choice. 

For  here,  in  girl  with  golden  hair, 

A  boxer  he'd  behold; 
And  there,  in  damsel  debonair, 

An  archer,  strong  and  bold; 

Yonder,  in  dame  of  high  degree, 

A  rider  to  his  mind; 
Elsewhere,  in  student-maid,  would  he 

An  all-round  athlete  find. 

Then,  if  for  followers  he  sought 

Methinks  he'd  quickly  ken 
The  charming  fact,  that  women  ought 

To  be  his  merry  men ! 


28  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


AFTERWARD 

"NEVER,"  he  vowed  it,  "while  life  may  last, 
Can  I  love  again.    I  will  die  unwed." 

"And  I,  too,  dear,  since  our  dream  is  past, 
I  will  live  single, "  she  sobbing  said. 

A  storm  of  farewells — of  wild  good-byes — 
He  rushed  from  the  spot,  like  an  outcast 
soul. 

She  hid  in  a  pillow  her  streaming  eyes, 
And  wept  with  anguish  beyond  control. 

Just  five  years  afterward,  they  two  met 
At  a  vender's  stand,  in  a  noisy  street ; 

He  saw  the  smile  he  could  ne'er  forget, 
And  she  the  eyes  that  were  more  than  sweet. 

"How  well  you 

1nnkf  " 

"Oh,  Kate!  ""Oh,  Harry!"  ' 

How  well  you 

look!" 

"I  stopped,"  he  said,  "just  to  get  a  toy 
For  my  little  girl."    "I  wanted  a  book," 
She  softly  said,  "for  my  little  boy." 


HIS  MUSINGS  29 


HIS  MUSINGS 

To  think  of  it !  ...     To-morrow  night 

I'll  be  a  married  man! 
Time  brings  odd  fashions  in  his  flight. 

I  wonder  if  one  can, 
Beforehand,  dream  how  much  a  wife 
May  change  the  current  of  his  life ! 

My  feet  upon  the  table  rest, 

I've  cast  my  coat  aside — 
My  necktie,  also — and  my  vest 

Is  open,  free  and  wide — 
And  as  I  puff  my  good  cigar 
How  strange,  how  new,  my  musings  are ! 

To  be  no  more  alone !    How  queer ! 

To  think  that  night  and  day 
Her  place  will  be  beside  me  here — 

That  she  will  come,  to  stay — 
That  never  can  the  chance  occur 
For  me,  to  go  and  call  on  her ! 

Will  she  shut  down  on  cigarettes? 
A  pipe  she  quite  abhors. 


30  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

Sometimes  a  rare  cigar  she  lets 
Me  smoke,  but  out  of  doors. 
Would  she  be  horrified  to  see 
The  cloud  that  now  encircles  me? 

Will  she  object  to  Tom  and  Dick, 

And  flout  poor  Harry  too? 
At  cards  demur?     At  billiards  "kick"? 

Who  knows  what  she  may  do 
To  catch  my  soul  at  unawares? 
Perhaps  she'll  make  me  say  my  prayers ! 

I  wonder  if  she'll  always  seem 

So  full  of  fitful  charm, 
So  like  a  bright  elusive  dream? 

When  here  against  my  arm 
Her  sweet  head  lies,  shall  I  be  sure 
I  have  her  fast,  all  mine — secure? 

Ah,  sweetheart  mine,  the  mist  is  deep 
Around  us  both  .  .  .  Life's  way 

In  golden  shadow  seems  to  sleep 
Beyond  our  wedding  day ! 

Yet,  for  all  else  the  wide  world  hath, 

I  would  not  change  the  untried  path ! 


SPRING  STIRRINGS  31 


SPRING  STIRRINGS 

Lo,  somewhere  swung  in  ether  free, 
The  spider  sights  a  nook  where  he 

May  dine  and  sup, 
And  likewise  build  a  winding  stair, 
Which  flies  exploring,  unaware, 

May  tumble  up. 

Now  doth  the  mute  and  struggling  worm, 
Far  in  his  clay  deeps,  writhe  and  squirm, 

To  life  recalled ; 

Wriggle  and  crawl  for  all  he's  worth 
To  get  above  the  breaking  earth 

His  forehead  bald. 

The  frog  is  glad,  and  tries  his  voice — 
Yet  softly,  for  he  has  no  choice 

But  still  to  wait 
Until  the  season  really  opes, 
And  an  engagement  crown  his  hopes 

With  joy  elate. 

As  for  mosquitoes,  wasps,  and  bees, 
And  other  things,  as  prompt  as  these 

To  bite  and  sting, 
If  only  kindly  Nature  would 
Forget  to  waken  them,  for  good — 

Thrice  welcome,  Spring ! 


32  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


THE  OLD,  OLD  FASHION 

IN  olden  days,  when  love  proved  fickle 
And  cruel  fate  the  heart  oppressed, 

Convenient  Death  came  with  his  sickle 
And  swept  the  broken  flower  to  rest. 

It  seemed  to  be  enough  that  lovers 
Should  wish  to  die — with  faces  hid, 

They  laid  them  down  among  the  clovers, 
Or  on  their  beds,  and  die  they  did. 

But  in  these  latter  days  degenerate, 

Ropes,  poisons,  dagger-points  are  sought; 

Yet  these  means  fail  us  oft — at  any  rate 
They  don't  act  always  as  they  ought. 

Is  it  that  Life  grows  more  tenacious 
Of  this,  her  fleeting  house  of  clay? 

Or  Death's  grim  maw  much  less  rapacious, 
More  fain  to  wait  on  nature's  way? 

Or  is  it  that  the  tender  passion 

Now  comes  and  goes  like  idle  breath, 

And  laughing,  flouts  the  old,  old  fashion 
That  made  Love  king  of  Life  and  Death? 


SOUVENIRS  33 


SOUVENIRS 

I  AM  so  fond  of  souvenirs ! 

I  get  as  many  as  I  can. 
They're  nice  to  keep  in  after  years — 

A  souvenir  for  every  man. 
The  boatswain's  whistle?     Yes,  it's  queer — 
Will  Clymer  carried  it,  at  the  Pier. 

This  clump  of  moss?     If  you  had  seen 
The  breezy  space  whereon  it  grew! 

All  sky  and  air  and  summer  green, 
And  on  the  rock  just  room  for  two. 

We  had  the  sweetest  time  when  he, 

Dear  Arthur,  dug  it  out  for  me ! 

My  poet-lover,  Raymond,  stripped 

This  piece  of  bark,  and  wrote  the  rhyme; 

It  always  brings  to  mind  the  script 
That  Rosalind  found,  once  on  a  time, 

Pinned  on  a  tree — it  is  as  sweet, 

But,  luckily — much  more  discreet ! 

Yes,  ferns  seem  really  fairy  things; 

They  make  one  think  of  sprites  and  elves. 


34  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

I  brought  these  back  from  Sharon  Springs — 

We  went  to  find  them  by  ourselves, 
Through  a  big  wood — the  wildest  place ! — 
I,  and  my  cousin,  Charley  Chase. 

Now,  these  are  treasures — these  two  shells ! 

We  named  them  by  each  other's  name, 
And  that,  of  course,  the  story  tells. 

Strange — but,  they're  always  much  the 

same, 

Those  stories!    See!    "Sylvester,"  "May." 
He'll  hate  me  till  his  dying  day ! 

Oh!— that?    That's  nothing,  dear,  at  all! 

At  least — it  was  a  boutonniere. 
We  waltzed,  and  some  one — let  it  fall — 

Some  one,  who — oh,  he  didn't  care. 
I  cared,  that  time  .  .  .     And — so,  my  dear, 
No  name  goes  with  this  souvenir ! 


A  VICTORY 

"WHAT  is  the  masculine  of  shrew?  " 
She  asked.    He  firmly  shook  his  head, 

And  gleeful  was  his  face  to  view — 
"There  isn't  any,  dear,"  he  said. 


TOO  RESPECTFUL  35 


TOO  RESPECTFUL 

HE  says  he  loves  me  ardently,  yet  he 

Of  this  sweet  thought  goes  far  to  disabuse 

me 
When,  if  by  accident  he  touches  me, 

He  murmurs  anxiously,  "Oh,  pray  excuse 
me." 

And  when  in  crowded  seat  I  take  my  place, 
When   Fate   by   his   dear   side   has   close 

bestowed  me, 

Why  should  he  try  so  hard  to  give  me  space, 
And  mourn  the  fact  that  he  must  "dis- 
commode "me? 

And  if,  in  circling  dance,  against  his  breast, 

Some  whirling  couple  recklessly  impels  me, 
His  handsome  face,   at  once,  looks  so  dis- 
tressed ; 

"Pardon,  'twas  not  my  fault,"  he  gently 
tells  me. 

Ah,  yes — he  loves  me,  for  he  seems  to  be 
Never,  of  petits  soins,  tired  nor  neglectful, 

But  as  I'm  fond  of  him — dear  me,  dear  me — 
I  wish  he'd  be  a  little  less  respectful. 


36  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


A  CURED  HEARTACHE 

OH,  dear  lost  heartache — sweetest  pain, 
When  hours  were  weeks  and  weeks  were  years, 
And  eyes  had  always  room  for  tears. 

How  blest  it  was  to  pine  and  sigh, 
To  wait  for  letters,  sick  at  heart 
Of  hope  deferred — to  kiss  and  part 

On  dim  street  corners  in  the  rain; 

To  win  a  smile  or  madly  feel 

A  frown  divide  the  soul  like  steel. 

Oh,  loveliest  misery!    Why,  why 

Did  we  curtail  that  happy  grief, 

Or  make  one  darling  pang  more  brief? 

For  now  the  days  are  simply — days. 
We  part  each  morn,  each  night  we  meet; 
We  kiss  and  yawn,  we  talk  and  eat 

In  married  life's  calm  peaceful  ways. 
But,  oh,  for  those  dear  woes  abjured, 
And  the  sweet  heartache  that  is  cured ! 


BROKEN  THREADS  37 


BROKEN  THREADS 

"WHEN  the  moon  is  up  o'er  yon  rock,"  she 

said, 
"With  its  silvery  arrows,  in  splendor  spread, 

[And  she  pointed  out  which  rock  she  meant, 
Like  the  back  of  a  dolphin,  curved  and  bent.] 

"Wherever  your  thoughts  or  footsteps  be, 
You  must  fly  to  this  spot,  dear,  and  think  of 
me; 

"For,  be  sure,  when  the  moonrise  tints  the 

blue, 
In  soul  and  spirit  I'll  walk  with  you! " 

And  nobly  true  to  her  last  fond  prayer 
He  strolled  by  the  sea  in  the  moonrise  fair, 

Down  where  the  breakers  foam  and  stir, 
And  looked  'round  sideways,  and  thought  of 
her 

With  a  guilty  glance,  as  he  held  the  hand 
Of  a  girl  she  hated,  and  paced  the  sand; 


38  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

While  she,  the  woman,  gone  back  to  town, 
Knew  not  if  moons  came  up  or  down, 

As  she  waltzed  and  waltzed  till  the  break  of 

day 
With  a  man  whom  she  hadn't  seen  since  May ! 


HER  PERFECT  LOVER 

"I  HAD  a  lover  once,"  she  sighed — 
"Yes,  just  before  I  married  you — 

Who  listened  when  I  spoke  and  tried 
To  answer  all  my  questions,  too. 

"So  courteous  and  so  kind — so  good! 

He'd  never  think  a  man  could  be 
As  thoughtless  and,  indeed,  as  rude 

As  you  too  often  are  to  me. 

"The  jewel  of  my  love  once  won, 

He  used  to  swear,  could  ne'er  grow  dim; 

He  would  not  dream  that  any  one 
Could  whistle  when  /  spoke  to  him ! 

"If  he  had  faults  he  kept  them  hid. 

I  should  have  married  him?    Yes;  true. 
And  that's  exactly  what  I  did. 

My  perfect  lover,  sir,  was — you!" 


CONVINCED  39 


CONVINCED 

"Now  tell  me,  dearest,  truth  for  truth — 
I  sometimes  fear  you  may  have  known 

In  boyhood,  or  your  earliest  youth, 
Another  girl  you  called  your  own. 

"Forgive  me  if  I  seem  to  lapse 
Prom  perfect  faith — that  is  not  it ! 

I  only  wonder  if,  perhaps, 
You  ever  loved,  a  little  bit !  " 

He  thought  of  Kate,  whose  brilliant  mind 
Once  gave  to  life  its  keenest  zest ; 

He  thought  of  Maud,  whose  hair  had  lined 
The  left-side  pocket  of  his  vest. 

He  thought  of  Lillie,  Nell,  and  Sue, 
Of  gentle  May  and  saucy  Nan, 

And  then  he  did  as  lovers  do, 

And  proved  himself  a  truthful  man. 

With  injured  air  and  mournful  eye 
He  sadly  turned  away  his  head. 

"If  you  can  think — "  she  heard  him  sigh. 
"Oh!  no — no — no!    I  don't! "  she  said. 


40  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


SHE'S  KIND  AS  SHE  IS  FAIR 

SHE'S  kind  as  she  is  fair — aye — there's  the  rub ! 

If  she  much  fairer  were,  or  far  less  kind, 
If  she  would  give  me  scoff,  or  sneer,  or  snub, 
I   might   take   heart   of   hope — for   Love, 

though  blind, 
Seeks,  through  the  guarding  thorns,  his  rose — 

content 
To  meet  the  stings  of  her  environment ! 

She's  kind  as  she  is  fair — that's  saying  much! 

Too  much,  alas,  for  my  poor  haggard  heart. 
Her  candid  eyes,  her  warm  and  friendly  touch, 

Give  me  no  joy — but  rather,  deeper  smart — 
And  seem  to  signal  brightly,  "Fool,  beware! 
She's  only  kind  because  she  is  so  fair!  " 

She's  kind  as  she  is  fair.    Alas,  and  hence, 
I  make  my  sad  adieux  and  go  my  way, — 

For  want  of  surer  warning,  hurried  thence 
By  words  too  sweet,  by  smiles  too  fond  and 
gay; 

Yet  knowing  this, — if  I  were  to  her  mind, 
She  could  not  be  too  fair — much  less,  too 
kind! 


JIM  41 


JIM 

WHEN  Jim,  the  hired  man,  first  came 
He  never  had  a  word  to  say, 

'Cept  jest  to  answer  to  his  name; 

He'd  sleep  all  night,  and  work  all  day, 

And  eat  his  meals,  and  go  and  come 

'Most  like  as  if  he's  deef  and  dumb. 


I  didn't  care.    Why,  no !    Of  course, 

Sometimes  Pa'd  send  me  down  the  farm 

To  tell  him  to  hitch  up  the  horse, 
Or  help  us  get  the  bees  to  swarm; 

But  not  a  word  he'd  say — not  he! 

He  wouldn't  even  look  at  me. 


Well,  by  and  by  that  made  me  mad. 

As  tall,  and  clever  built,  and  trim. 
Nice  teeth  and  hair — oh,  not  half  bad 

To  look  at,  and  I  looked  at  him 
Considerable,  first  and  last, 
And  jest  as  temptin'  as  I  da'st. 

I  used  to  curl  my  hair  at  night, 
And  dress  and  fix  up  every  day; 

He  never  cared  a  single  mite — 
He'd  always  stare  the  other  way, 

And  pet  the  dog,  or  stroke  the  cow, 

Or  coax  the  cat — oh,  he  knew  how! 


42  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

Course,  other  fellows  came  around, 
Much  better  dressed  and  not  so  shy; 

They  cared  enough,  but  I  was  bound 
I'd  make  him  care,  or  I'd  know  why. 

And  so  I  picked  on  Sammy  Snow, 

And  glory,  how  I  flirted — oh ! 

We  used  to  set  nights,  Sam  and  me, 

Out  on  the  porch.    One  night  Jim  passed, 

A-goin'  in  to  bed.     Says  he, 

"Folkses,  good-night."    And  jest  as  fast, 

'Fore  I  could  think,  he  stooped,  like  that, 

And  kissed  me  on  the  mouth,  right  flat ! 

Well,  Sam  he  took  his  hat  and  flew 

Off  in  a  rage — at  me,  not  Jim. 
And  me?    Good  lands!    What  could  I  do? 

I  didn't  care  a  snap  for  him. 
But  Jim !    If  he'd  'a'  slapped  my  face 
I  wouldn't  felt  a  worse  disgrace. 

I  cried,  and  then  I  said,  "Who  cares? " 
And  then  I  cried  again.    But  when 

I  went  indoors,  there,  on  the  stairs, 

That  Jim  was  waitin'.    Then,  oh,  then — 

Lucky  'twas  dark — you'd  think  that  he 

Would  never  get  through  kissin'  me ! 

And  so,  as  soon  as  my  folks  knew, 

They — sent  him  packing?    I  guess  not! 

Why,  there  he  sets,  in  front  of  you. 
Readin'  his  paper.    Yes,  that's  what ! 

Father,  I've  been  a-tellin'  her 

Jest  how  you  didn't  court  me,  sir ! 


THE  POINT  OF  VIEW  43 


THE  POINT  OF  VIEW 

SHE  said:  "I  have  given  up  cards  and  balls, 

And  I  shall  not  go  out,  unless 
To  pay  off  my  list  of  duty  calls, 

Or  to  comfort  and  help  distress. 

"In  fact,  I'm  renouncing  everything 

That  is  wicked  and  worldly,  so 
This  Lent  will  surely  a  blessing  bring, 

For  the  pleasures  I  must  forego!" 

He  fretted  and  fumed  and  gazed  apart 

And  mournfully  said,  at  last: 
' '  I  suppose  you  won't  give  me  a  kiss,  sweet- 
heart, 

Till  the  whole  of  Lent  be  past?" 

She  gently  looked  in  his  face,  at  this, 

And  he  saw  a  reproachful  tear. 
"How  strange  'men  are !    Do  you  call  a  kiss 

Either  wicked  or  worldly,  dear?" 


44  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


WID  THADY'S  PIPE  BESIDE  THE  DOOR 

WID  Thady's  pipe  beside  the  door, 
And  Thady  there,  content  and  aisy — 

Could  wife  or  woman  ask  for  more 
Barrin'  she  wor  a  fool — or  crazy? 

The  queen  could  crave  no  blessin'  higher 

Than  her  good  man,  in  comfort,  nigh  her. 

Wid  Thady's  pipe  beside  the  door, 

The  hearth  clean-swept,  the  praties   bub- 

blin'— 
The  childre  playin'  on  the  floor — 

Ah,  what  could  make  me  heart  be  throub- 

lin'? 

I'll  smooth  me  hair  an'  take  me  knittin' — 
A  body  might  as  well  be  sittin'. 

Wid  Thady's  pipe  beside  the  door — 
The  friendly  neighbors — passin',  callin', 

With  bits  of  talk  and  jokes  galore — 
The  quiet  duskus  round  us  fallin' ; 

It's  far  to  God  me  heart  is  strayin', 

And  many's  the  happy  prayer  I'm  sayin'. 


THE  POET'S  WIFE  45 


THE  POET'S  WIFE 

SHE  brings  her  pretty  knitting  (bless  her!) 
Or  mystic  threads  for  making  laces, 

That  by  and  by  will  serve  to  dress  her 
In  new  and,  no  doubt,  charming  graces. 

She  sits  and  rocks,  her  rocker  chiming 

In  measured  cadence  to  my  rhyming. 

Sometimes  with  eye  that  proudly  glistens 
I  read  a  sonnet  I  have  written; 

She  counts  her  stitches  while  she  listens, 
Or  pulls  a  thread  to  make  it  fit  in — 

And,  with  her  gaze  intent  upon  it, 

Asks  what  they  pay  me  for  a  sonnet. 

She  little  knows  of  rhyme  or  metre 

And  cares  still  less,  but  asks  me  whether 

Chiffon  and  roses  would  look  sweeter 
To  trim  her  hat,  than  jet  and  feather. 

And  while  I'm  "framing  odes  to  Cupid" 

She  tells  me,  "Poetry  is  stupid ! " 

But  oh,  her  eyes!  .  .  .  Her  silken  lashes — 
Her  hair's  sweet  mutinies — the  dimple 


46  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

In  cheek  and  chin — the  outward  flashes 
Of  inward  smiles — her  tranquil,  simple, 
Entrancing  air !  .  .  .  Did  she  but  know  it- 
She  is  the  reason  I'm  a  poet! 


WHAT  WILL  PEOPLE  SAY? 

WHAT  will  people  say? 

Well,  this  is  too  absurd ! 
Of  what  they  say  you  never  may 

Hear  even  one  single  word. 

What  will  people  think? 

Now,  this  is  even  worse ! 
How  can  you  get  a  wink,  or  blink, 

Of  what  their  minds  rehearse  ? 

Then,  as  for  what  they  may 

Remark — let  no  tear  fall; 
And  as  for  what  they  think — well,  say! 

They  never  think,  at  all ! 


THE  SIMPLE  CITY  FOLK  47 


THE  SIMPLE  CITY  FOLK 

OH,  yes,  we  got  the  house  right  full;  all  city 

people,  too, 
Payin'  plank  down  fer  everything — the  best 

I  ever  knew; 
An'  as  fer  clo'es,  an'  rings  an'  things,  I  swan, 

it  dazzles  me! 
But,  land  sakes!  it's  surprisin'  what  simple 

folk  they  be. 

They're  jes  like  children — they'll  believe,  why, 

any  sort  of  chaff; 
'Twould  do  you  good  to  watch  'em  set,    an 

laff,  an'  laff,  an'  laff; 
The  minnit   Pa  appears  they  all  begin  to 

smile — an'  when 
He  starts  to  tell  'em  jokes —  you'd  ought  to 

see  'em  laffin'  then. 

An'  my!  the  wimmin  come  to  me  (their  ways 

are  kinder  nice; 
Mothers,  themselves,  an'  not  so  young)   a- 

askin'  my  advice — 


48  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

Jest  how  I  keep  my  eggs  so  fresh,  an'  what  I 

put  in  dye, 
An'  how  I  make  my  buttermilk,  an'  get  my 

cheese  to  dry. 

The  girls  all  want  their  fortchins  told  in  tea- 
grounds — I  declare 

You'd  think  I  tell  'em  gospel  truth — they 
take  it  in,  fer  fair; 

An'  them  young  men!  as  innocent  an'  mild — 
I'd  like  to  know 

However  they  grew  up  like  that,  an'  keep  on 
bein'  so! 

The  ol'  men  moon  aroun'  the  farm,  examinin' 

this  and  that, 
An'  don't  know  plows  from  harrows,  nor  a 

beetle  from  a  bat; 
An'  yet  it  seems  they're  business  men — but 

glory,  I  can't  see 
However  they  could  make  their  salt — sech 

simple  folk  they  be ! 


A  NEEDED  CHARITY  49 


A  NEEDED  CHARITY 

THE  keenest  bliss,  the  sweetest  pain,  that 

lover's  heart  can  borrow 
Meet  in  that  moment  when  to-day  is  verging 

on  to-morrow — 
When    warning    hand    on    dial-plate    points 

fatefully  and  clearly, 
And  all  your  vain  pretenses  checked,   you 

know  'tis  midnight  nearly. 
Oh,  hard  the  task,  when  feeling  well  that 

equally  'twill  grieve  her, 
To  grip  your  courage  in  both  hands  and  say 

good-night  and  leave  her. 

Now  what  could  be  more  frightful  than,  when 

life  is  at  its  sweetest, 
To  goad  and  lash  and  flay  yourself,  to  writhe 

in  the  completest 
Soul-sacrifice  man  e'er  can  know;  no  martyr 

could  outdo  it — 
Nor    saint,    in    sackcloth    clad,    attempt    a 

penance  like  unto  it. 

4 


50  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

To  tear  yourself  from  paradise  as  Adam  from 

his  garden, 
But  with  this  difference,  that  he  had  sinned 

past  hope  of  pardon. 

To  say  good-night  when  clinging  arms  about 

your  neck  are  twining, 
To  turn  away  when  coaxing  eyes  into  your 

own  are  shining, 
To  take  one  last  sweet  kiss  and  leave  unkissed 

the  rest  you  covet, 
And  actually  to  drop  her  hand,  as  if  you  did 

not  love  it, 
To  hear  the  cruel  hall-door  bang — I  swear  by 

all  the  sages 
'Tis  savage,  vile,  uncivilized,  barbaric,  and 

outrageous ! 

Kind    Christian   thought    has    organized   in 

every  known  direction 
Humane  and  gentle  charities  that  offer  sweet 

protection 
Not  only  to  the  human  race,  but  unto  beasts 

and  fishes, 
To  birds  and  insects  of  the  air — how  strange 

that  no  one  wishes 
A  nobler  charity  to  found;  no  one  a  bent 

discovers 
To   war   against   the   wide-spread   crime   of 

cruelty  to  lovers ! 


CAR- FA  RE  51 


CAR-FARE 

HAVE  you  ever  watched  the  warfare 

Of  two  women  over  car-fare  ? 

Each  aflame  with  generous  feeling, 

Depth  of  heart  and  purse  revealing; 

Each  inspired  with  gentle  horror 

Lest  the  other  should  pay  for  her. 

But  take  note — the  more  insistent 

Of  the  combatants  persistent, 

She  whose  hand  most  promptly  snatches 

At  her  pocket-book's  stiff  catches, 

She  who  murmurs:    "Don't  be  strange,  dear, 

It's  all  right,  I've  got  the  change,  dear!" 

She — though  I  am  sad  to  say  it — 

Always  lets  the  other  pay  it ! 


52  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


HIS  INTERPRETATION 

"On  give  me  time,"  she,  trembling,  said, 
"A  little  time,  to  think  it  over"; 

He  smiled  and  kissed  her  drooping  head, 
And  yielded  like  a  tender  lover. 

"She's  but  a  child,"  he  mused  that  night, 
"Who  shrinks  from  fate,  afraid  to  test  it; 

She  really  seemed  quite  in  a  fright." 
He  little  knew  how  near  he'd  guessed  it. 

*'  How  shall  I  break  with  Jack? "  she  moaned — 
"He's  got  my  letters.    Oh,  good  gracious! 

And  Harry  has  my  ring,"  she  groaned — 
"He'll  keep  it,  too — he's  so  audacious. 

"Was  ever  girl  in  such  a  fix? 

I  must  get  rid  of  Will  and  Stephen, 
And  George,  and  Archibald — that's  six — 

And  poor  dear  cousin  Tom  makes  seven." 

As  thus  she  grieved  in  accents  wild, 

He  said,  while  joy  his  features  brightened, 

"Yes — she  is  nothing  but  a  child, 

And  that  is  why  she  seemed  so  frightened." 


A  DIFFERENT  TUNE  53 


A    DIFFERENT   TUNE 

THE  ball  is  up,  the  moon  is  bright, 

I  muse  alone — 
My  thoughts  drift  backward  through  the  night 

To  nights  long  flown, 

When  I  amid  the  merry  crowd 

Went  forth  to  skate, 
Erect  of  back  and  fearless-browed, 

With  charming  Kate. 

What  joy  to  hold  her  glove  or  muff — 

To  rest  or  haste ! 
What  joy  where  friendly  ice  was  rough 

To  clasp  her  waist ! 

What  joy  to  face  the  bracing  wind, 

To  curve  and  reel, 
And  hear  the  ceaseless  silvery  grind 

Of  skater's  heel ! 

What  joy — alas!  my  light  burns  low; 

I  must  to  bed. 
Alone,  through  darkened  halls  I  go 

With  stealthy  tread. 


54  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

The  girl  I  used  to  skate  with,  she 
Sleeps  sound  and  well. 

The  baby — but  who  knows  when  he 
Will  wake  and  yell? 

So,  soft,  by  glimpses  of  the  moon, 
Up-stairs  I  steal; 

With  step  far  different  from  the  tune 
Of  skater's  heel. 


A  CONUNDRUM 

"  SWEET  Kitty,  tell  me  why  a  kiss 
Is  like  creation  ?"     Lost  in  mood, 

Perplext,  she  could  not  answer  this: 
Or — would  not,  if  she  could. 

As  one  who  had  not  much  to  fear, 

He  grasped  her  hand,  and  nearer  stood: 

"Because,  'tis  made  from  nothing,  dear, 
And — God  knows  it's  good." 


A  GIRL  55 


A    GIRL 

HER  eyes  are  lovely — I  won't  tell 
What  hue  their  loveliness  may  show; 

Her  braided  hair  becomes  her  well — 
In  color  like — but  ah,  no,  no — 

That  is  my  secret, — red  or  brown, 

It  is  the  prettiest  hair  in  town. 


She  walks  with  such  a  dainty  charm 
That  whether  she  be  short  or  tall, 

Of  rounded  limb,  or  sylph-like  form, 
Her  figure  suits  me — that  is  all; 

Nor  do  I  choose  the  world  to  know 

If  silk  her  gown,  or  calico. 


My  precious  girl  is  worth  her  weight, 
Not  in  rough  gold,  but  diamonds  fine — 

And  whether  that  be  small,  or  great, 
I  leave  the  reader  to  divine. 

Ask  me  to  gauge  her  solid  worth, 

She  would  outweigh  the  whole  round  earth. 


S6  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

To  rhyme  her  praise  is  such  delight, 
That  I  must  keep  it  to  myself, 

Lest  one  should  better  verses  write, 
And  lay  me  gently  on  the  shelf. 

I  am  not  jealous,  but,  you  see, 

This  charming  girl — belongs  to  me. 


A  COGITATION 

THE  frost-swept  marshes  seem  to  sleep, 

The  listless  streams  lie  still  and  numb, 
The  winds  a  charmed  silence  keep, 

The  hills  are  mute,  the  woods  are  dumb ; 
But  Nature  wears  a  thoughtful  frown 

As  of  surprise  with  anger  blent 
(As  one  will  cast  one's  eyelids  down 
In  sudden  study,  deep  and  brown, 

When  met  by  problem  strange,  and  bent 

On  finding  out  just  what  is  meant) . 
So  Nature  evidently  sighs 

O'er  some  deep  riddle,  pondered  well — 
I  think  it  must  be  at  the  lies 

That  disappointed  sportsmen  tell. 


A  SKETCH  57 


A  SKETCH 

SHE  sketched  and  painted,  up  and  down  the 
river. 

I  rowed  the  boat 

Where  willows  dip,  and  deepening  shadows 
quiver, 

And  lilies  float. 

Cliff,  cottage,  sail,  and  bridge,  and  sea-sands 
yellow 

Her  studies  were — 

And,  oh,  I  thought  myself  a  lucky  fellow, 
Adrift — with  her ! 

Long  hours,  with  oars  at  rest,  I  sat  and  waited; 

She  painted  on, 

With    now    and    then    a    smile — absorbed, 
elated — 

Till,  daylight  gone, 
She'd  raise  her  eyes  reluctantly,  and  murmur 

"Oh,  must  we  go?  " 
And  I — I'd  only  plant  my  feet  the  firmer, 

And  start  to  row. 


58  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

Last  night  we  met.     Of  art,   she  prattled 
sweetly; 

Of  what  she'd  done 
In  way  of  summer  work,  accomplished  neatly ; 

Of  praises  won; 
But,  when  I  shyly  dared  my  part  to  mention, 

As  oarsman  true, 

She  vaguely  smiled,  and  said,  with  inatten- 
tion— 

"  Oh— was  it  your 


AS  IT  SHOULD  BE 

"I  LOVE  you,"  he  said,  "I  love  you — 
Believe  me,"  he  warmly  cried, 

"There  is  none  I  would  place  above  you! " 
She  gazed  at  him  tranquil-eyed. 

"I  love  you" — again  he  uttered 

The  words,  with  a  final  air — 
While  she,  quite  unmoved,  unfluttered, 

Continued  her  steadfast  stare. 

Puzzled  and  vexed  he  wondered 

What  she  was  staring  at — 
Nor  dreamed  that  she  mutely  pondered, 

"  Do  you  think  I'm  surprised  at  that  ?  " 


A   WOMAN'S  SORROW  59 


A  WOMAN'S  SORROW 

SHE  read  the  page  with  a  mournful  eye. 

"Oh,  heart,"  she  said,  "it  is  strange! 
I  could  weep  when  I  think  how  man's  wild  love 

Can  silently  cool,  and  change! 

"To  look  at  Jack's  letters  of  long  ago! 

'My  angel,'  'my  love,'  'my  own,' 
'The  light  of  my  dreams,'  'my  lovely  one  '; 

But  this,  to-day,  is  his  tone: 

"'Dear  wife:  O.  K.,  and  the  trunk  has  come; 

Tell  Williams  I'll  telegraph; 
He  might  have  managed  the  thing  himself 

If  he  hadn't  been  such  a  calf. 

"'I'm  here  for  a  week,  at  the  Wilmington — 

Enough  to  eat — of  the  kind ; 
Look  under  the  bureau,  some  time,  dear, 

For  that  stud  that  I  couldn't  find. 

"I've  got  an  earache — confounded  draft 
On  the  train.    You  can  ask  Old  Ray 

To  cash  your  checks  for  you.    Don't  forget 
To  send  me  my  flannels. — J.' " 


60  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

She  dropped  a  tear  as  she  took  her  pen, 
Yet  these  were  the  words  she  wrote: 

"Dear  Hubby,  I  told  you  you'd  get  your 

death 
Without  your  big  overcoat. 

"The  man  for  the  carpets  came  to-day; 

I  haven't  seen  Williams  since; 
Dear  mother  arrived  last  night — to  stay — 

And  we're  doing  up  jelly  (quince). 

"Take care  of  your  money,  for  goodness*  sake ! 

The  check  was  a  perfect  boon; 
Your  flannels?    N.  G.     Get  some  new  ones, 
dear; 

The  baby  is  well.    Write  soon." 

She  shook  her  head  as  she  traced  his  name, 
And  sealed  her  letter  with  sighs: 

"  It  is  hard  for  a  woman  to  understand 
How  soon  man's  sentiment  dies." 


A  FAIR  SINNER  61 


A  FAIR  SINNER 

His  conscience  gave  him  many  a  twinge 

And  led  him  many  a  dance, 
Recalling  thoughts  that  made  him  cringe 

Before  her  earnest  glance; 
Her  pure  eyes  caused  his  soul  to  quake 
While  he  confession  longed  to  make. 

He  yearned  to  empty  out  his  heart 

And  firmly  tell  her  all, 
Then,  bravely  make  a  clean  new  start, 

Resolved  no  more  to  fall. 
But,  as  he  mused,  she  murmured,  "Dear, 
I've  a  confession  you  must  hear." 

" You! "  he  exclaimed.     Her  eyes  were  wet, 

She  hid  her  face.     "  "Pis  true: 
Listen  ...  I  smoked  a  cigarette 

Once,  with  a  man  I  knew; 
It  made  me  sick  and — so  did  he. 
Speak — tell  me — can  you  pardon  me?  " 

He  chuckled  inwardly,  but  made 
His  face  surprised  and  sad. 


62  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

"I  had  a  tale  to  tell,"  he  said, 

"Of  errors,  quite  as  bad; 
But  now,  I  can't  confess  to  you, 
Since  you,  dear,  are  a  sinner  too." 


WHAT  GLADYS  SAID 

SAID  Gladys  with  a  smile  of  bright  disdain 
(The  season  is  her  first ;  she  knows  not  yet 

The  sweet  and  bitter  uses  of  her  reign, 
The  perils  in  her  frowns  and  dimples  set) ; 

Said  Gladys  (and  I  heard  her  little  foot 
Beat  its  impatience  on  the  favored  ground, 

The  while  I  longed  to  button  up  that  boot 
With  kisses  from  its  toe  to  ankle  round) ; 

Said  Gladys  (and  I  listened,  who  would  not? 

Watching  those  lips  that  might  a  saint  be- 
guile)— 
What  did  she  say?    Really,  I  can't  tell  what — 

I'm  only  certain  that  I  saw  her  smile. 


ONE  SUMMER  63 


ONE  SUMMER 

THE  nights  were  calm,  the  days  were  splendid; 

We  roamed  the  woodlands,  side  by  side — 
When  sunset's  dream  with  moonlight  blended, 

We  floated  out,  across  the  tide — 
We  sang  together,  gently  keeping 
Time  to  the  oars'  slow  rhythmic  beating. 

We  were  the  only  two,  that  season, 
Who  came  to  board — Fate  willed  it  so, 

For  a  distinctly  special  reason 

That  later  on  we  learned  to  know, — 

And  how  we  hoped  that  none  would  find  us 

Where  our  sweet  solitude  enshrined  us ! 

The  house  and  grounds  alike  were  spacious, 
And  she  and  I — we  owned  it  all. 

We  reveled  in  the  thought !  Good  gracious, 
How  we  enjoyed  the  quiet  hall, 

The  shadowed  porch,  the  parlor  lonely, 

The  dinners  served  for  us — us  only! 

Ah,  Fate  Life's  lesson  strangely  orders, 
For  now  in  thinking  of  what  was 


64  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

I  wish  there  had  been  other  boarders, 

Because — alas!  ah,  yes,  because 
We've  been — to  write  it  makes  me  wince — 
Boarding  together,  ever  since! 


'TWIXT  CUP  AND  LIP 

"THERE'S  many  a  slip 
'Twixt  cup  and  lip" — 

The  proverb's  made  of  sterling  stuff; 
But  when  we  think 
How  much  men  drink, 

We  find  there  are  not  slips  enough ! 


YES,  OR  NO?  65 


YES,  OR  NO? 

THE  big  barn  doors  stood  open  wide 

And  a  fiddler  sat  on  either  side; 

Red  lanterns  hung  on  the  beams  a  score 

And  lighted  the  barn  from  roof  to  floor, 

The  rough-board  walls  and  the  piled-up  hay, 

The  girls'  sweet  faces  and  ribbons  gay, 

And  the  boys  who  had  pulled  off  their  coats 

to  stay 
And  dance  it  out  till  the  morning. 

How  light  they  pattered,  the  nimble  feet, 
While  clapping  palms  to  the  music  beat, 
And  now  and  then,  through  the  dizzy  whirl 
Rang  a  merry  shriek  as  some  breathless  girl 
Was  swung  by  her  partner  off  the  ground 
In  the  clasp  of  his  arm  round,  round,  and 

round ; 

The  hills  laughed  back  to  the  laughing  sound, 
Ah !  many  a  time  ere  the  morning. 

I  sat  in  a  corner  against  the  hay. 
I  had  brought  her  there,  but  that  didn't  say 
I  might  fetch  her  back  again ;  so  I  sat 
And  I  held  her  shawl — oh,  I  clung  to  that! 


66  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

I  couldn't  dance  and  I  wouldn't  try, 
But  as  she  glided  and  slided  by 
With  the  other  fellows,  I  swore  that  I 
Should  take  her  home  in  the  morning. 

Well,  so  when  the  dawn  broke  east  and  west 
And  the  last  dance  ended — the  last  and  best — 
I  walked  right  over.    It  seemed  the  noise 
Stopped  still  of  a  sudden ;  the  girls  and  boys 
Looked — smiling,  waiting — I  didn't  fall, 
But  I  straightened  myself  and  stood  up  tall 
And  said,  "When  you're  ready — well,  here's 

your  shawl, 
And  we'll  tell  the  folks  good-morning." 

And  she — God  bless  her — (I  saw  a  smile 
In  her  beautiful,  sleepy  eyes  the  while) 
She  said,  "All  right!  " — not  another  word — 
But  a  sweeter  by  man  was  never  heard. 
The  joy  of  it  made  me  chill  and  pale 
As  she  took  her  bonnet  down  from  a  nail 
And  searched  about  for  her  missing  veil 
In  the  growing  light  of  the  morning. 

And  oh,  to  think  of  that  lonely  walk 
Through  the  dim,  gray  fields,  and  our  foolish 

talk, 

And  the  words  I  said  ere  her  noisy  gate 
Had  closed  between  us  like  bars  of  fate ! 


EXPLAINED  67 

But  whether  my  heart  beat  high  or  low 

What  matters  now?    'Tis  so  long  ago 

Since  she  whispered  that  "yes" — or  was  it 

"no"? 
In  the  still,  soft  dawn  of  the  morning. 


EXPLAINED 

"LOLITA,  do  you  love  me,  dear?  " 
I  asked  her  in  the  merest  joke; 

While  o'er  her  cheek,  so  sweetly  near, 
A  flush  of  sudden  rapture  broke. 

She  caught  me  in  a  quick  embrace 
And  held  me,  clinging  close  and  warm, 

While  her  soft  kisses  swept  my  face 
Like  whirling  rose  leaves  in  a  storm. 

I  laughed  aloud,  amused,  but  she, 

Half  sobbing,  kissed  me  more  and  more — 

"Outrageous  conduct?  "    Well,  you  see 
The  girl's  quite  young — she's  only  four. 


68  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


THE  FATAL  TOPIC 

SHE  talked  of  poetry.    Her  voice 
Sank  to  a  cadence  soft  and  low, 

The  while  she  murmured  in  his  ear 
Some  rhymes  she'd  written,  years  ago. 

She  talked  of  music,  with  her  hands 

Astray  among  the  ivory  keys, 
Playing  a  rippling  "gondolied" 

That  brought  his  soul  upon  its  knees. 

She  talked  of  art.    Her  blue  eyes  shone, 
Her  fair  cheek  flushed,  and,  as  he  sat, 

He  thought:  "By  Jove!  what  pictured  face 
Could  better  be  worth  looking  at?  " 

She  talked  of  friendship,  till  he  felt 

That  friendship  was  man's  greatest  good; 

And  when  she  quoted  Emerson, 
He  looked  as  if  he  understood. 

She  talked  of  love.    The  hour  was  late, 
It  may  have  been  because  of  that — 

But  one  thing  certain  is,  that  when 
She  talked  of  love,  he — took  his  hat ! 


ROSES  69 


ROSES 
The  Plaint  of  the  Belle 

I  DREAD  the  very  sight  of  them; 

My  tired  eye  closes 
At  glimpse  of  blush,  or  bud,  or  stem, 

Of  proffered  roses. 

To  sniff  them  all,  I'd  need,  at  least, 

A  dozen  noses — 
I'm  sure  my  nostrils  have  increased 

From  smelling  roses. 

For  too  much  of  a  good  thing,  mark, 

One's  mind  disposes 
To  base  ingratitude;  then,  hark — 

Don't  send  me  roses ! 

I  know  this  edict  seems  unkind — 

It  so  forecloses 
The  satisfaction  that  men  find 

In  buying  roses. 


70  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

Why  can't  they  guess  that  woman  needs, 

For  all  her  poses, 
Gloves,  laces,  slippers,  fans,  and  beads, 

Far  more  than  roses? 

Ah,  no — my  future's  door  ajar 

But  this  discloses, — 
More  men,  who  struggle  from  afar 

To  bring  me  roses ! 


TWO  VIEWS  OF  IT 

WHILE  smoking  gravely  with  his  friend 
These  confidences  he  let  fall : 

"'Tis  tempting,  but  I  must  haul  up; 
Noblesse  oblige,  confound  it  all ! 

"Poor  girl!    No,  no — it  will  not  do. 

My  slightest  glance  she  trembles  at — 
She  loves  me  madly.    Nothing  else 

Will  scare  a  fellow  off  like  that! " 

While  she  unto  her  friend  remarked  : 
"He  really  bores  me,  but  you  know 

One  must  be  courteous,  and  besides, 
The  poor  dear  boy,  he  loves  me  so!  " 


A  SEA-SIDE  HERMIT  71 


A  SEA-SIDE   HERMIT 

HE  said:  "I'll  away  to  some  lonely  shore 
Where  billows  broaden  and  sea-tides  roar; 
I'll  go  and  forget  the  season's  maze 
Of  dinners,  dances,  reception-days. 
Ah,  yes;  I'll  find  me  some  desert  scene, 
Where  the  footstep  of  woman  has  never  been." 
He  roamed  to  a  fishing  village  quaint, 
Where  he  dwelt,  like  an  anchorite  or  saint, 
In  a  moss-grown  cottage,  all  by  himself, 
Under  a  huge  rock's  towering  shelf. 
Here  he  strolled  alone  on  a  wide  bright  beach 
That  stretched  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 

There  were  fifteen  girls  at  the  Surf  hotel 
Who  looked  through  a  spy-glass  long  and  well, 
And  who  clapped  their  hands  with  abandoned 

vim 

The  day  that  the  spy-glass  sighted  him ! 
On  the  following  morn,  when  this  hermit  fared 
Forth  from  his  hut,  how  he  stared  and  glared 
At  the  sun-umbrellas  of  white  and  red 
Over  that  shining  sand-stretch  spread; 
Where,  in  groups  of  two  and  in  groups  of  three 
Were  girls  as  pretty  as  girls  could  be. 


72  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

"What's  this? "  he  cried.    "  Do  I  understand 
I'm  the  only  man  on  this  wide  sea-strand? 
Ha!    I'll  foil  them  yet."    And  he  turned  him 

round 
And  back  to  his  hut  with  a  single  bound. 

Alas!  alas!  'twas  of  small  avail, 
The  firm  resolve  of  this  stern  young  male ; 
For  he  came  back  late  to  the  busy  town 
From  his  hut  on  the  sea-sands,  rough  and 

brown, 
Where  the  steep  rocks  rise  and  the  billow 

curls, 
Engaged  to  ten  of  those  fifteen  girls. 


YEARS  OF  DISCRETION 

YEARS  of  discretion  surely  are 

Life's  full  and  sweet  completion; 
But  wilful  Fate  delights  to  mar, 
For,  when  we  reach  them,  there's  a  jar — 
The  years  are  more  apparent,  far, 
Than  the  discretion ! 


THE  POSTMAN  73 


THE  POSTMAN 
St.  Valentine's  Day 

How  fast  the  postman  goes 
Laden  with  joys  and  woes 

Along  the  street ! 
Young  eyes  watch  with  delight; 
Eyes,  not  so  young,  with  quite 

As  quick  pulse-beat. 

He  carries  painted  hearts 
Transfixed  with  harmless  darts; 

Live  hearts,  too,  hide, 
Stowed  in  his  swinging  bag, 
And  doubtless  make  it  wag 

From  side  to  side. 

Here,  prayer  of  parted  friends 
And  shaft  that  malice  sends 

Elbow  for  space; 
The  pang  that  hurts  and  stings, 
The  balm  that  healing  brings, 

Run  equal  race. 


74  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

A  scentless  rose,  a  verse 
That  hardly  could  be  worse, 

A  soul's  despair, 
A  tear  blot,  and  a  jest, 
A  happy  love  confessed, 

A  laugh,  a  prayer! 

Is  he  a  man  or  elf? 
Pandora's  box  itself 

Could  scarce  send  wide 
Such  motley  crowd  and  fleet, 
Save  that  gifts  fair  and  sweet 

Its  ills  divide ! 

Bird-like,  he  mounts  and  swoops 
Swift  up  and  down  the  stoops; 

He's  drawing  near. 
Though  I  may  moralize, 
I,  too,  have  waiting  eyes — 

Oh,  please  stop  here  t 


A  PESSIMISTIC  REVERY  75 


A  PESSIMISTIC  REVERY 

I'D  like  to  take  a  journey  hence 
To  other  worlds,  for  here,  in  fact, 

Nature  seems  short  of  common  sense 
And  painfully  devoid  of  tact. 

Her  loves  and  griefs,  her  joys  and  pains, 

Mix  up  in  such  a  reckless  way 
That  which  the  losses  are,  or  gains, 

No  reasoning  mind  can  clearly  say. 

The  things  she  does  and  leaves  undone, 
Her  curious  use  of  good  and  bad, 

Would  really  be  no  end  of  fun — 
Only  it  happens  to  be  sad. 

The  pains  and  evils  she  contrives 
Appear  to  make  her  feel  elate; 

And  then,  her  spite  at  human  lives 
Is  something  strange  to  contemplate. 

That  gravitation's  hideous  laws 

Should  earth's  fair  atmosphere  disgrace, 
And  yet  the  earth  be  safe  because 

'Tis  poised  aloft  in  airy  space; 


76  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

That  half  our  life  is  given  to  sleep; 

That  not  to  eat  is  certain  death, 
And  that  alive  we  cannot  keep 

Without  the  constant  aid  of  breath ; 

Why,  these  facts  so  outrageous  seem 
That  when  I  ponder  them  I  shake 

Myself  and  say,  "This  is  a  dream; 
I  surely  cannot  be  awake! " 

Alas !  I  am.     My  grief  is  this, 
That  I'm  too  wide  awake  by  far, 

And  hence  my  yearning  project  is 
To  seek  some  other  sphere  or  star. 

But,  then,  on  second  thought,  perhaps 
I'd  better  stay  and  calmly  wait, 

Because  when  years  enough  elapse 
I'll  have  to  go  at  any  rate. 


A  BY -GONE  JOY  77 


A  BY-GONE  JOY 

THERE  was  a  joy  we  used  to  know, 

A  joy  that  only  came  in  spring, 
With   leaves   that   burst,  and   flowers   that 
blow — 

In  fact,  with  every  beauteous  thing — 
Also,  with  adjuncts  less  sublime; 

Yet,  how  we  reveled  in  the  day 
That  brought,  with  ashes,  dust,  and  grime, 

A  "moving"  on  the  first  of  May. 

How  sweet  to  lunch  from  crate  and  box; 

What  bliss  to  be  allowed  to  bear 
Pillows,  brooms,  vases,  lamps,  and  clocks, 

And  watch  them  packed  in — "anywhere." 
To  boyish  hearts,  what  wild  delight 

To  ride  upon  the  load — yet  more, 
Methinks,  the  crowning  joy,  at  night, 

To  sleep  in  beds  upon  the  floor. 

Ah,  nothing  now  of  this  we  greet. 

We  see  an  auto  van — a  few 
Stout  ropes — some  packing  boxes  neat — 

A  quiet,  giant  man  or  two; 


78  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

By  trolley  car  our  transit's  made 
To  seek  the  new  abode,  and  lo! 

Curtains  are  hung  and  carpets  laid, 
And  table  spread,  and  range  aglow. 

I  know  not  how  it  came  about, 

This  change — I  only  know  'tis  here; 
More  comfort,  yes,  beyond  a  doubt ; 

Less  work,  less  weariness,  more  cheer. 
But  ah!  they  dream  not  what  they  miss, 

Of  reckless  fun  and  frolic  gay, 
Who  never  knew  the  old-time  bliss — 

A  "moving"  on  the  first  of  May! 


THE  WHOLE  STORY 

THEY  met  and  bowed,  and  moved  apart- 
They  met,  and  danced,  and  yet 

Again  they  met,  and  talked  and  walked,- 
And  afterwards,  they  met, 

And  met,  and  met,  and  met — and  then, 

They  met — and  did  not  part  again ! 


LOVE'S  HOUR  79 


LOVE'S   HOUR 

LOVE  cried  to  Life:  "Sweetheart,  take  hands 

with  me — 

Leave  strife  and  traffic,  toil  and  busy  mart, 

Swift  wheels  on  land,  deep  laden  ships  on  sea — 

Thou  know'st  not  yet  how  fair,  how  great 

thou  art, 
Till  I  have  kissed  and  crowned  thy  kingly 

head — 

Thou  canst  not  know, " — Love,  in  sweet  plead- 
ing, said. 

And  Life  looked,  smiling,  but  with  anxious 

brow, 
As  one  through  tears  might  gaze  at  some 

soft  flower. 
"Thou  child  of  sun  and  dew,  what  sayest 

thou? 

I  have  no  time  for  thee,  save  one  brief  hour. ' ' 
Then  Love,  too,  smiled,  with  fond  eyes  as 

before — 
"One    hour,    sweetheart?  ...  I    have    not 

asked  for  more!" 


8o  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


PEGGY 

PEGGY  !    Who  wrought  this  saucy  name 

From  stately  Margaret? 
Methinks,  in  laughter's  chime  it  came, 

To  reckless  music  set. 
Who  was  the  lover,  knave  or  poet, 
That  dared  first  in  this  guise  to  show  it? 


•    The  sound  is  sweet  and  odd, 
Like  quaint,  wild  note  of  bird, 
Or  quick  foot  dancing  on  a  sod  ; 

Yet  nothing  ever  heard 
Quite  echoes  Peggy.    Who  could  breathe  it 
And  not  in  graceful  rhythm  wreathe  it  ? 

Peggy  !    Its  syllables  transform 
Proud  Margaret's  queenly  grace 

To  milkmaid  beauty,  wild  and  warm, 
Of  sun-kissed  brow  and  face, 

In  green  Arcadian  lanes  coquetting 

With  rustic  swains,  her  path  besetting. 

Peggy!    But  of  one  thing  I'm  sure: 
A  great  deal's  in  a  name! 


HER  PUZZLING  WAYS  8l 

Margaret  had  never  proved  the  lure 

That  Peggy  swift  became. 
I  knew  at  once  Love  could  not  err  in 
The  blindest  pathway  he  saw  her  in! 


HER  PUZZLING  WAYS 

SHE  smiled  and  smiled  and  smiled  and  smiled, 

And  sometimes  for  a  change, 
She  laughed  and  laughed  and  laughed — he 
thought 

Her  ways  were  rather  strange ! 

But  when  he  asked  her  for  her  hand 

Into  his  own  it  crept, 
With  glad  response,  and  then  she  wept 

And  wept — and  wept,  and  wept ! 


82  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


BLUE  EYES  AND  BROWN 


BLUE  eyes !    A  mountain  stream 

Is  not  more  blue; 
She  trifles  with  her  cream 

As  women  do 
And  I, — I  smoke  and  dream, 

Contented,  too. 

II 

She  wears  my  wedding  ring, 

She  is  my  own ; 
Yet  swift,  on  sudden  wing 

My  thought  has  flown 
Back,  where  wild  roses  cling 

And  hay  is  mown. 

Ill 

The  slowly-brightening  moon 
(How  beats  my  heart !) 

Rises,  too  fair — too  soon; 
They  have  no  art 

To  lengthen  time's  scant  boon, 
Who  kiss  and  part. 


BLUE  EYES  AND  BROWN  83 

IV 

I  kissed  her  mouth  and  hair — 

Her  lids,  that  fell 
Drowned  in  quick  tears,  that  bear 

The  heart's  farewell. 
Of  love's  last  sweet  despair 

What  tongue  can  tell? 


Blue  eyes !    Alas,  alas, 
For  dear  brown  eyes, 

For  roses  in  the  grass 
And  moonlit  skies, 

For  time  beloved  that  was, 
And  sad  good-byes ! 

VI 

Alas !  while  through  the  haze 

Of  my  cigar 
Blue  eyes  send  tranquil  rays, 

My  heart,  afar, 
Wanders  a  wild-rose  maze, 

Where  brown  eyes  are. 

AFTERTHOUGHT 

But  if — suppose  it  true — 

These  eyes  so  near 
Were  brown  instead  of  blue, 

Warm,  more  than  clear, 


84  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

Perhaps — who  knows? — my  sighs 
Might  still  float  down 

The  past,  in  search  of  eyes 
That  were  not  brown! 


SMILES  VS.  TEARS 

WHEN  Clytie  laughs  at  me,  as  oft  she  doth, 
I  set  myself  to  use  whatever  wile 

Her  merry  mood  may  alter,  nothing  loth 
To  see  repentant  tears  put  out  her  smile. 

But,  when  she  weeps,  as  eagerly  I  try 

To  soothe  her  pain,  her  dear  grief  to  beguile; 

And  know  not  which  is  sweeter,  no,  not  I, 
Her  smile  in  tears,  or  tears  within  her  smile. 


IT"  85 


((  TT^  " 

GIVE  me  an  Ignoramus  bold — 

The  densest  of  his  kind ; 
With  him  I'll  sweet  communion  hold, 

Meet  with  him,  mind  to  mind. 

Let  me  clasp  the  hand  of  that  woman  great 

Who  hasn't  a  word  to  spare ; 
No  views,  nor  opinions  wise,  to  prate 

On  anything  whatsoe'er. 

Hither  and  yonder  I  bend  my  brow, 

In  hope  that  I  yet  may  hit 
On  the  chance  of  meeting,  somewhere,  some- 
how, 

A  being  who  is  not  "IT"! 

Speak  not  of  "up  to  date"  to  me, 

"Aufait,"  "good  form,"  or  "in  touch"; 

I  long  for  nothing  except  to  flee 

From  the  people  who  know  so  much ! 


86  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


THE  EASTER  GIRL 

THE  Easter  girl !    Beneath  the  skies 
There's  nothing  like  unto  her; 

The  sun  that  shines,  the  breeze  that  sighs, 
Both  seem  inclined  to  woo  her; 

And — there  are  others, — but  she's  less 

Responsive  to  their  willingness. 

The  Easter  girl !    Her  hat  is  made 

Of  various  sorts  of  splendor; 
But,  bright  or  dark,  or  gay  or  staid, 

Be  sure  the  eyes  are  tender 
That  'neath  the  brim,  or  flat  or  curled, 
Look  sweet  good- will,  to  all  the  world. 

The  Easter  girl !    Yes,  she  is  here — 

Best  of  all  Easter  blessings; 
Sweet  contradiction,  warm,  sincere, 

Of  Lenten  time  repressings. 
A  resurrection  is  her  face 
Of  Earth's  delight,  and  Heaven's  grace. 

Dear  Easter  girl !    I  sing  your  lay, 
Child  of  bright  tears  and  laughter, 


A   USEFUL  BLIZZARD  87 

Who  know  not  that  you  lead  the  way — 

The  whole  world  follows  after; 
Or  if  you  know,  have  you,  then,  guessed 
That  I,  too,  follow  with  the  rest? 


A  USEFUL  BLIZZARD 

A  BLIZZARD  one  day  went  out  to  play; 

He  raced  and  he  romped  and  ran 
And  howled  and  hustled  and  made  things  gay, 

As  only  a  Blizzard  can. 

He  did  all  the  harm  he  conveniently  could, 
And  he  did  it  with  zeal  and  vim; 

But  he  did  one  thing  that  was  great  and  good 
And  the  good  lived  after  him. 

He  helped  full  many  a  hostess  out — 
And  lightened  her  soul  of  dread; 

For  he  gave  people  something  to  talk  about — 
All  hail  to  his  hoary  head! 


88  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


REFUSED 

"No,  no,"  she  said,  and  firmly  spoke; 

She  reasoned  with  him  like  a  mother, 
And  showed  why  he  should  be  content 

To  let  her  love  him  as  a  brother. 

She  pictured  how  the  marriage  state 
Was  one  of  trouble  and  confusion; 

How  love,  at  best,  is  but  a  snare, 
And  plainly  sent  for  man's  delusion. 

He  bowed  his  head  before  her  flow 
Of  eloquence,  nor  strove  to  turn  it, 

But  meekly  hinted  that  he  would 

The  lesson  take,  and  strive  to  learn  it. 

"Farewell.    I  go  beyond  the  sea — 

Since  you  refuse,  no  more  I'll  press  you. 

Kind  Time,"  he  sighed,  "may  heal  my  pain. 
Forgive — forget  me,  and — God  bless  you." 

She  faltered,  stared — then  tossed  her  head. 

"I  see  it  will  not  greatly  grieve  you; 
You  can't  have  loved  me  much,"  she  said, 

"And  yet,  indeed,  I  did  believe  you. 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  PILGRIMS          89 

"Besides," — with  this  her  fair  cheek  gained 
The  color  his  was  slowly  losing — 

"I  only  said  no — once,  or  twice, 

And — women  don't  call  that  refusing." 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 

ONE  by  one  through  the  city  street 

In  sorrowful  search  we  go; 
At  curbs  and  crossings  we  sometimes  meet 

With  looks  of  infinite  woe. 

For  the  shadow  of  fate  stalks  close  behind, 

And  a  will-o'-the-wisp  before, 
As  sadly  onward  our  way  we  wind 

Like  beggars  from  door  to  door. 

Oh,  happy  birds,  if  we  could  but  know 
Your  blithesome  and  merry  quest ! 

Out  of  the  free  four  winds  that  blow 
To  fashion  a  home-like  nest. 

Alas !  we  are  only  wretched  men, 

Seeking  by  night  and  day 
Some  place  of  shelter  as  round  again 

Comes  the  pitiless  first  of  May. 


90  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


THE  HAPPIEST  TIME 

WHENEVER  life's  song  is  out  of  rhyme 
And  fate  and  my  plans  won't  thrive, 

Then  I  love  to  muse  on  that  glorious  time — 
The  time  when  I  wasn't  alive. 

Those  dear  old  days !  How  they  haunt  me  yet 
With  dreams  of  content  and  bliss; 

When  there  wasn't  a  hurt  I  could  possibly  get, 
Nor  a  joy  I  could  lose  nor  miss. 

When  I  let  the  years  and  the  ages  flee 

In  the  most  uncounted  way, 
And  never  looked  in  the  glass  to  see 

If  my  hair  were  growing  gray. 

What  wonder  that  still  I  love  to  speak 
Of  this  kingdom  grand  and  free, 

That  vanished  away  at  the  first  wild  shriek 
Of  the  infant  known  as  me? 

They  may  prate  of  the  wondrous  things  that 
are, 

Which  existence  alone  can  give; 
But  I  know  that  my  happiest  days,  by  far, 

Were  the  days  when  I  didn't  live. 


A  CLEVER  MAN  91 

Nor  would  I  compare  the  pleasures  shown 

In  the  present's  frivolous  scene 
With  the  endless  raptures  that  were  not  known, 

The  bliss  that  has  never  been. 

I  don't  care  a  jot  how  fortune  flows 

To  the  men  on  each  side  of  me; 
For  the  fellows  I  envy  the  most  are  those 

Who  have  not  begun  to  be. 


A  CLEVER   MAN 

"You  must  be  mine — you  must  be  mine"; 

He  used  the  words  best  known  to  wooers, 
In  ardent  tones, — but,  all  the  same, 

He  never  said:  "I  must  be  yours!  " 


92  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


TWO  PHANTOMS 

A  PHANTOM  but  newly  dead  was  in  search 

Of  his  bearings,  to  get  them  right, 
And  was  hovering  doubtfully  over  a  church 

When  another  ghost  came  in  sight; 
He  nodded  grimly,  and  nearer  drew. 

While  the  preacher's  ringing  tone 
Rang  clearly  the  sound  of  sobbing  through 

To  the  ghosts  in  the  high  ozone. 

Said  the  new-made  ghost,  in  a  reverent  tone, 

As  he  thoughtfully  glanced  below : 
"  It  seems  some  soul  from  his  friends  has  gone 

Whose  like  they  shall  never  know; 
Of  angel  grace  he  lacked  naught  save  the 
wings, 

So  nobly  his  virtues  ran." 
Said  the  other  ghost — who  was  used  to  such 
things — 

"They  are  talking  of  you,  old  man." 

"Of  me?"  cried  the  phantom.     "Can  it  be 

I  was  such  a  soul,  so  great, 
So  true  and  noble — so  strong  and  free? 

Have  I  learned  it,  alas,  too  late? 


AWAY  WITH  THEM/  93 

I  will  hie  me  back  to  the  earth,  and  strive — " 

"Hie  nothing,"  the  other  said; 
"The  reason  they're  praising  you,  man  alive, 

Is — just  because  you  are  dead!  " 


AWAY  WITH  THEM! 

AWAY  with  charms  that  tempt  in  vain! 
Green  shadowy  wood,  and  winding  lane; 
Away  with  meads  and  fragrant  leas, 
With  butterflies  and  birds  and  bees ! 
Away  with  her  I  love,  whose  eyes 
Draw  from  me  my  sad  heart  in  sighs! 
Away  with  her  sweet  wiles !    I  say, 
With  all  these  things,  away,  away! 
Away  with  them! — because,  you  see, 
Away  with  them,  I'd  like  to  be! 


94  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


'TIS  TIME  TO  RISE 

WHEN  cats  forsake  the  backyard  fence, 
And  drowsy  maid  in  darkness  dense 
Doth  scratch  a  match  to  view  the  clock; 
When  milkman,  taking  in  the  block, 
Doth  morning  bottles  briskly  clink 
Of  cream  and  milk;  with  him  we  think 
We  ought  to  rise. 

When  dimly  white  the  window  gleams, 
And  most  familiar  object  seems 
Unlike  itself;  when  faint  and  far 
We  hearken  the  first  down-town  car; 
When  most  we  hate  the  thought  of  "biz," 
This,  this,  alas !  we  feel  this  is 
The  time  to  rise. 

When  sunlight  reddens  on  the  floor, 
And  carrier  swift  at  basement  door 
The  morning  paper  gayly  flings; 
When  gently  stir  the  breakfast  things; 
When  we  to  spring  from  slumber  vow 
And — fall  asleep, — we  know  that  now 
'Tis  time  to  rise! 


A  STUDY  95 


A  STUDY 

SHE'S  full  of  tact — she  knows  just  what 

To  say,  and  when  to  say  it ; 
Whatever  part  falls  to  her  lot, 

She's  well  equipped  to  play  it. 
Your  smiles  are  mirrored  on  her  face, 

Your  sighs  are  heard,  and  heeded; 
And  tears — the  tears  that  leave  no  trace — 

Are  promptly  yours,  when  needed. 

She  has  soft  looks  for  Tom  and  Dick, 

Likewise  for  scapegrace  Harry; 
Were  she  confronted  with  Old  Nick, 

Methinks  she'd  mildly  tarry 
To  say  a  word  of  soothing  praise — 

And  e'en  that  stern  saint,  Peter, 
Could  scarce  escape  her  wiling  ways 

If  he,  by  chance,  should  meet  her ! 

Her  mind's  alert  your  thought  to  grasp, 

Practical,  or  esthetic; 
Her  hand  is  ready  with  a  clasp, 

Tenderly  sympathetic; 
She's  full  of  tact — in  word  and  act 

Well  doth  such  grace  become  her; 
But,  she's  so  full  of  tact,  in  fact — 

That — all  the  men  fly  from  her ! 


96  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


THE  VANQUISHED   MAN 

WHO  speaks  of  freedom's  joy  to  me 

In  accents  brave? 
Ah,  let  who  will,  or  can,  be  free; 

I  am  a  slave! 

No  chains  my  limbs  or  body  fret 
With  twist  and  twinge — 

No  dungeon  walls  are  'round  me  set; 
And  yet  I  cringe; 

I  bend,  I  bow,  I  sneak,  I  slink, 

I  crawl  and  creep; 
I  scarcely  ever  get  a  wink 

Of  quiet  sleep. 

Above  my  breath  I  dare  not  speak; 

Upstairs  I  steal, 
Fearful  my  shoes  might  chance  to  squeak 

Or  door-hinge  squeal. 

You  wonder  why  my  manhood  bows 

Thus  basely  low? 
There's  a  new  baby  in  the  house — 

Now,  do  you  know? 


A  HOPELESS  CASE  97 


A  HOPELESS  CASE 

"GiVE  me  a  kiss,"  she  pleading  said. 

He  heard,  unmoved,  her  ardent  suing, 
Altho'  to  her  he  was  not  wed — 

Nor  had  he  even  come  a-wooing. 

"Give  me  a  kiss,"  her  lips  in  shape 

To  tempt  a  saint,  did  thus  beseech  him, 

While  he  seemed  striving  to  escape 

To  some  place,  where  she  could  not  reach 
him. 

"Give  me  a  kiss,  just  one,  I  pray." 
Her  fond  insistence  ill  did  serve  her. 

He  looked  askance,  and  turned  away, 
Scared  and  disgusted  at  her  fervor. 

"  Give  me  a  kiss."    Each  coaxing  word 

Seemed  more  and  more  to  fright  and  pain 
him, 

Because — he  was  her  brand-new  bird, 
And  she  was  starting  in  to  train  him. 


98  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


TWO   INVITATIONS 

May  writes: 

DEAR   Helen,    you   must   surely   come,   the 

season  is  so  gay. 
I'll  tell  you  now  just  what  to  bring,  and  then 

of  course  you  may 
Make  such  additions  as  seem  fit.    I  hope  you'll 

come  to  stay. 

Well,  dear,  to  be  effective  here,  where  color  is 

the  rage, 
One  should  adopt  some  quiet  tint;  soft  gray 

would  suit  your  age — 
I  mean  your  youth;  but  then  the  shade  is 

difficult  to  gauge. 

I've  chosen  black,  and  stick  to  it.    Just  once 

I  thought  I'd  dare 
A    change.     I    wore    flame-color,    and    you 

should  have  seen  them  stare, 
Especially  the  men.    Of  course  my  arms  and 

neck  were  bare. 


TWO  INVITATIONS  99 

Still,  as  I  said,  the  quieter  the  dress  the  more 

it  makes 
One  seem  a  contrast  to  the  throng,  and  that's 

the  thing  that  takes; 
And  that's  just  what  we're  playing  for — our 

very  highest  stakes. 


But   bring   your   nicest   underwear.      These 

rocks  are  very  steep, 
And  sometimes,  in  the  climbing,  one  is  apt  to 

jump  and  leap; 
So  have  your  flouncings  all  of  lace  and  extra 

fine  and  deep. 


Be  lavish,  dear,  in  parasols,  as  brilliant  as  you 

choose. 
They  make  the  picture's  setting,  and  shine 

out  against  the  blues 
And  grays  of  ocean  background — if  one  the 

term  can  use. 


The  place  is  very  full  this  year;  the  faces  all 

seem  new. 
The  men  are  simply  splendid,   and  there's 

plenty  of  them,  too. 
I  know  that  is  the  best  inducement  I  can  offer 

you. 


ioo  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

So  come;  we'll  have  no  end  of  fun.    My  Jack 

is  still  away. 
He's  camping  out  at  Wildwood  glen,  and  says 

he'll  write  to-day 
To  ask  your  Frank  to  join  him.    Won't  that 

be  lovely?  MAY. 

Jack  writes : 

Dear  boy,  come  up  and  stretch  yourself — 
come  up  and  breathe  some  air. 

Get  out  of  that  infernal  rut.  It  makes  a 
fellow  swear 

To  think  what  lives  we  live  all  year,  penned 
in  the  city  there. 

I've  lots  of  things  to  tell  you,  but  I  can't  keep 

on  the  track; 
There's  too  much  world,  and  sky,  and  breeze — 

come  up  and  take  a  whack. 
And  bring  the  oldest  togs  you  have — the  very 

oldest.  JACK. 


WHAT  SHE  DID  NOT  SAY  101 


WHAT  SHE  DID  NOT  SAY 

"I  WISH  to  tell  you,"  she  firmly  said, 

"Yes,  once  for  all" — here  she  caught  his 
eye — 

"When  faith  is  ended  and  hope  is  dead" — 
She  looked  as  if  she  would  like  to  cry. 

"Whatever  of  love — but  that  time  is  past, 
That  dream  is  over.    You  needn't  speak, 

The  bitter  truth  you  must  know  at  last ; 
Oh!    I  will  be  strong  though  I  have  been 
weak. 

"But  now  that  you  plainly  understand" — 

Her  soft  voice  faltered,  he  drew  more  near — 
"I  need  say  no  more" — here  he  caught  her 

hand, 

And  the  word  he  murmured  was  simply 
"Dear!" 

And  then,  as  a  loving  woman  should, 

She  wept  on  his  heart  in  the  old  sweet  way, 

And  she  said  no  more,  but  he  understood, 
Ah !  better  far,  what  she  did  not  say. 


102  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


HER  TYRANT  MASTER 

WITH  cheeks  aglow  from  kisses  of  the  frost, 
Blue  laughing  eyes,  and  shining  hair,  wind- 
tossed, 

She  comes  in  breathless,  bright,  a  little  late, 
Fair  as  a  dream,  but  pitiless  as  Fate. 

She  struggles  with  her  rubbers  on  the  mat, 
Lays  by  her  jacket  and  hangs  up  her  hat, 
Pulls  off  her  gloves,  and  sweetly  thoughtful 

stands 
Beside  the  register,  to  warm  her  hands. 

I  look  up,  at  her  soft  "good  morning";  then 
I  mumble  "morning,"  and  lay  down  my  pen. 
And  then  her  task  begins,  and,  like  a  Turk, 
I  keep  her — how  remorselessly — at  work ! 

She's  my  typewriter  girl,  and  I'm  her  "boss"; 
I  hear  her  tell  the  bookkeeper  I'm  "cross," 
And  ' '  hard  to  please. ' '    Great  Scott !  that  isn't 

it. 
If  she  could  only  know  how  hard  I'm  hit ! 

Oh,  yes,  I  scold  you,  dear;  I  nag  and  yell; 
Only,  because  you  please  me  far  too  well ; 
Also,  because  I'd  like  to  knock  in  two 
The  tall  young  fellow  who  walks  home  with 
you. 


THE  FALSE  ORACLE  103 


THE  FALSE  ORACLE 

SHE  picked  a  little  daisy  flower 
With  fringe  of  snow  and  heart  of  gold, 

All  pure  without,  and  warm  within, 
And  stood  to  have  her  fortune  told. 

"He  loves  me, "  low,  she  musing  said, 
And  plucked  the  border,  leaf  by  leaf, 

"A  little — too  much — not  at  all — 
With  fullest  heart,  beyond  belief." 

"A  little — too  much — not  at  all," 
So  rang  the  changes  o'er  and  o'er; 

The  tiny  leaflets  fluttered  down 

And  strewed  the  meadow's  grassy  floor. 

"A  little — too  much — not  at  all — 
With  fullest  heart."    Oh,  magic  brief! 

Ah,  foolish  task,  to  measure  out 
Love's  value,  on  a  daisy  leaf. 

For  as  she  plucked  the  latest  left, 
With  "not  at  all, "  I  heard  her  say, 

"Ah,  much  you  know,  you  silly  flower — 
He'll  love  me  till  his  dying  day." 


104  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


AT  DAWN 

I  LOVE  the  first  faint  tender  thrill 

Of  light  that  tints  the  east,  and  makes 

A  silvery  ribbon  of  the  rill 

Unwound  among  its  tangled  brakes. 

I  love  the  robin's  matin  note 

That,  stirring  in  his  sleep,  he  sings 

Half  on  the  air,  half  in  his  throat, 
And  muffled  half,  beneath  his  wings. 

I  love  the  violet's  waking  eye — 

The  wayside  daisy's  star-like  face — 

The  sweet-briar,  blushing  at  the  sky — 
The  dew-drenched  clover's  generous  grace. 

I  revel  most  at  this  strange  hour, 

In  Nature's  charm,  mysterious,  deep; 

This  is  the  time  I  feel  her  power 

Because,  thank  goodness,  I'm  asleep. 


MULTIPLICA  TION  105 


MULTIPLICATION 

I  CRAVED  a  kiss  with  prayer  and  sigh, 
Long,  long  I  craved,  and  long  in  vain ; 
At  length,  in  pity  for  my  pain, 

The  gift  she  granted,  tenderly. 

I  can  not  tell  the  reason  why 

This  grace,  alas!  should  prove  my  bane; 
For  now,  still  far  more  hungrily, 
I'm  wishing  day  and  night  that  I 

Could  kiss  her  fifty  times  again. 


A  FREE  SLAVE 

SHE  said — he  was  her  lover — 
"  I  would  not  hold  you — no — 

If  once  the  dream  seemed  over — 
If  once  you  wished  to  go — 

"You're  free — at  any  season — 
At  any  moment — free!  " 

' '  But  that  is  just  the  reason 
You  hold  me  fast,"  said  he. 


io6  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


THE  MAIDEN'S  AIM 

HE  pelted  her  neatly,  from  head  to  feet, 
With  snowballs  soft  and  with  snowballs  fleet, 

And  seemed  to  think  it  no  end  of  fun; 
While  she  was  busy  preparing  one, 

Rolling,  pounding  it  hard  and  sound, 

With  snow  scooped  up  from  the  fleecy  ground. 

Then  aimed  she  her  missile  fair  and  clear; 
He  did  not  dodge,  for  he  did  not  fear, 

But  calmly  waited  to  see  it  fly, 
And  far  from  its  target  wildly  shy. 

When,  whack !  on  the  side  of  his  smiling  face 
He  caught  it,  right  in  the  very  place 

She  had  meant  to  paste  it.  By  Jove,  and  Mars, 
And  Jupiter  Ammon,  but  he  saw  stars ! 

For  her  brother,  a  baseball  pitcher  tall, 
Had  taught  and  trained  her  to  throw  a  ball. 


A  GRADUATE  107 

And  this  gay  young  fellow,  who  laughed  with 

glee, 
While  bravely  awaiting  her  onslaught,  he 

Was  speedily  brought  to  understand 

How  the  clinging,  gentle,  and  trusting  hand 

That  rocks  the  cradle,  plain  truth  to  tell, 
Can  do  some  other  things  quite  as  well ! 


A  GRADUATE 

PRACTICE,  they  say,  makes  perfect  in  each  art : 

The  heart,  then,  truly 
In  Cupid's  lore,  if  studious  from  the  start, 

Must  progress  duly. 

Ergo — the  fact  that  I  have  loved  before, 

Proves  only,  now,  dear, 
That  I  can  love  you  better  far,  and  more 

By  knowing  how,  dear. 


ON  THE  YACHT 

SAID  Dick,  "This  sea  breeze  has  one  fault — 
It  makes  my  whiskers  taste  of  salt." 

Said  pretty  Lil,  who  near  him  sat, 
"Yes,  doesn't  it?    /  noticed  that." 


108  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


SILENCE 

SHE  has  a  sweet,  distracting  way 
Of  saying  nothing,  which,  I  swear, 

A  dearer  meaning  can  convey, 

Than  uttered  words  could  ever  dare. 

Her  eyes  their  silken  fringes  raise, 
A  dimple  comes  in  either  cheek; 

Her  ripe  lips  part,  and  as  you  gaze 

You'd  really  think  you  heard  her  speak. 

You  may  at  first  be  vexed  by  this, 
But  you'll  discover  day  by  day 

Her  silence  much  more  charming  is 
Than  anything  she  finds  to  say. 


THE  OUTLOOK 

HE  begs  me  to  marry  him,  here,  and  now — 

He  frets  at  a  week's  delay, 
When  he  pictures  the  joy  that  will  crown  his 
brow 

From  the  date  of  the  wedding  day. 

He  knows  I  can  fill  his  cup,  to  the  brink, 
With  such  bliss  as  we  seldom  see, — 

But — it  never  occurs  to  the  man  to  think 
If  the  bliss  will  be  shared  by — me  \ 


HER  WAY  OF  WAITING  109 


HER  WAY  OF  WAITING 

SHE  sat  and  waited  by  the  hedge, 

The  western  sky  shone  clear  and  yellow; 
White  mists  were  rising  from  the  sedge, 
The  birds  drank  at  the  water's  edge — 

She  sat  and  watched  for  him — dear  fellow! 

The  fields  grew  dim,  the  sky  grew  gray, 

The  stars,  like  timid  flowers,  were  budding; 
She  watched  along  the  lonely  way, 
While  up  the  smooth  sands  of  the  bay 
The  limpid,  silvery  tide  came  flooding. 

She  watched; — but  when  she  saw,  at  last, 
His  tall  form  hurrying  from  the  distance, 

She  rose,  nor  look  behind  her  cast, 

And  walked  the  other  way  as  fast 
As  if  he  wasn't  in  existence ! 


i  io  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


IRISH  COURTSHIP 

"AND   how   are   ye,    Kitty?"     "Sure,   is   it 

yerself?" 
"What's  left  of  me,  darlin' — it's  not  a  great 

deal, 
And  that  little  might  just  as  well  be  on  the 

shelf, 

For  all  that  your  hard  heart  would  pity  or 
feel." 

"No,  thanks  be  to  goodness,  I'm  not  such  a 

fool 
As  the  rest  of  the  women,  mind  that,  Master 

Ted!" 
"Ye're  the  cruel  exception  that's  provin'  the 

rule, 

And  it's   of  that  same  proof,   dear,    I'm 
nearly  half  dead. " 

"Well,  ye're  wastin'  yer  time;  don't  I  tell  ye 

so,  flat, 

So  trim  up  yer  whiskers  an'  get  yer  hair 
curled ; 


IRISH  COURTSHIP  in 

There's  plenty  of  girls  for  the  askin',  mind 

that." 

"But  there's  only  one  Kitty,  just  one,  in  the 
world." 


"If  there's  only  one  Kitty,  then  she's  not 

for  you." 

"Oh,  troth,  if  she  isn't,  I'm  surely  forlorn! 
But  I've  made  up  my  mind  that  I'll  pound 

black  and  blue, 
The  fella  that  gets  her,  as  sure  as  he's  born. 

"I'll   break    every   bone   in  his  body,  Miss 

Kate,— 
For  there's  no  other  comfort  would  make 

me  resigned; 
Then,  if  you  can  love  him,  good  luck  to  your 

fate, 

For  you'll  marry  a  cripple,  so  now,  do  you 
mind?" 

"Sure  ye  know  ye're  a  rascal."    "An'  that's 

just  my  name, 
And  that's  what  I  will  be,  and  all  for  yer 

sake — 
But  rascal  or  not,  faith,  I'll  haunt  ye,  the 

same, 

And  I'll  follow  ye,  what  iver  road  ye  may 
take. 


112  THE  OPEN  BOOK, 

"  Ye'll  make  me  a  divil,  yes,  that's  what  ye'll 

do, 
And  then  ye'll  be  proud  of  yer  handiwork, 

dear, 
When  I  might  be  a  saint,  livin'  peaceful  wid 

you, 
In  Heaven  hereafter,  and  Paradise  here." 

"A  divil!     Oh,  Teddy,  don't  say  it,  that's 

wrong! 
Sure,  ye're  makin'  me  cry,  wid  yer  schames 

an'  yer  art." 

"Isn't  that  what  I'm  tryin'  to  do,  all  along — 
An'  it's  time  I  was  kissin'  yer  tears  off, 
sweetheart." 

"It's  a  slap  ye'll  be  gettin' — take  that,  that 

and  that." 
"An*  welcome;  ye  know,  dear,  they  tell  us  a 

kiss 
We  must  give  for  a  blow.     Don't  I  see  what 

ye're  at, 

And  faith  I  won't  stint  ye — take  this,  this 
and  this." 


POETIC  JUSTICE  113 


POETIC  JUSTICE 

WE'VE  heard  of  the  summer  girl  too  much; 

We  are  tired  of  the  modes  and  styles 
By  which  she  endeavors  to  lure  and  clutch 

Unwary  youth  in  her  wiles. 

Why  hasn't  the  poet  extolled  in  rhyme 

The  girl  who  discreetly  goes 
Away  from  town  for  a  quiet  time 

And  to  get  a  rest  from  her  beaux? 

Why  doesn't  he  sing  of  the  maid  whose  soul 

Is  attuned  to  Nature's  tone — 
Who  prefers,  by  herself,  through  the  woods  to 
stroll, 

And  to  gaze  at  the  moon,  alone? 


I  would  answer  thus:   In  great  Nature's  plan 

Is  many  a  strange  surprise, 
And — the  poet  may  be  a  truthful  man 

Who  never  has  learned  to  tell  lies. 


H4  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


WHAT  LIKE  IS  A  LOVER? 

WHAT  like  is  a  lover  ?    A  lover's  like 
A  straw,  in  the  spring  wind  blowing ! 

How  far  he  will  float,  or  where  he'll  strike, 
Is  past  all  our  wisest  knowing. 

A  straw  in  the  wind,  now  here — now  there, — 

And  that's  like  a  lover;  so,  sweet,  beware! 

What  like  is  a  lover?    A  light  in  a  mist, 
Not  well  to  be  trusted,  blindly — 

Sometimes  found,  but  as  often  missed — 
Unkind,  when  he  seems  most  kindly; 

A  scorching  sun,  and  a  chilling  shade — 

And  that's  like  a  lover;  be  warned,  fair  maid! 

What  like  is  a  lover?    My  sweet  sweetheart, 

Ah,  nothing's  like  to  a  lover 
For  guile  and  cunning,  and  wicked  art ! 

Forswear  them  all, — and  discover 
The  one,  one  only,  you  need  not  fear 
To  trust  forever!  ...  7  love  you,  dear! 


THE  OLD,  OLD  STORY  115 


THE  OLD,  OLD  STORY 

I  CHOSE  him  out  from  all  the  rest — 

My  Tom — he  had  three  lovely  brothers; 

But — well — he  seemed  to  like  me  best 
Of  all  the  girls.    Oh,  there  were  others 

That  wanted  him,  but,  somehow,  he, 

Right  from  the  first,  kept  after  me. 

He  was  so  splendid!    Big  and  kind 
And  calm,  and  full  of  mischief,  very. 

A  romp  seemed  always  to  his  mind, 
While  I  was  rather  prim  than  merry. 

Yet,  when  he  was  my  own,  I  felt 

How  fond  a  lover  near  me  dwelt. 

Alas!    There  came  a  time  of  change; 

He  cared  no  more  for  home  nor  quiet. 
His  moods  were  reckless,  wild,  and  strange; 

Night  after  night  he  spent  in  riot, 
Returning  when  the  dawnlight  came 
Quite  heedless  of  reproach  or  blame. 

And  so  it  went,  till  months  were  past. 
I  was  too  proud  to  bang  or  beat  him, 


Ii6  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

Or  pull  his  whiskers — yet,  at  last, 

He  left  me.    Now,  I  sometimes  meet  him; 
He  has  grown  ugly,  old,  and  fat — 
My  handsome  Maltese  Thomas  cat. 


CONSISTENT 

"'TWOULD  never  do,"  she  firmly  said; 
"The  clustering  curls  that  crown  your  head 
Are  blond,  which  is  my  color,  too. 
Your  eyes,  alas!  like  mine,  are  blue; 
Sanguine  are  both  our  temperaments. 
I  am  compelled  to  drive  you  hence, 
Science  forbids  that  we  should  wed. 
'T  would  never  do!" — she  firmly  said. 

"Then  I  must  seek  a  dark  brunette," 
He  sadly  sighed, — "with  eyes  of  jet; 
A  woman  languid,  dreamy,  slow, 
Would  be  my  counterpart — just  so." 
He  sighed.     "Across  the  street  from  me 
Lives  such  a  one — I'll  go  and  see 
How  she,  on  nearer  view,  appears." 
"And  leave  me  ?"  she  inquired  with  tears. 


THE  CRY  OF  THE  REVIEWERS         117 


THE  CRY  OF  THE  REVIEWERS 

AYE,  write,  write,  write!    Oh,  go  on  writing, 

do! 

Don't  stop  to  let  us  breathe,  nor  to  take 
breath — 

Speed,   speed   your   stylo-pens — typewriters, 

too — 
The  sooner  we  shall  all  be  nearing  death, 

And  rest  .  .  .  and  rest ! — Keep  up  the  strenu- 
ous sprint, 

Scribble,  erase,  pad  out,  revise,  and  print. 

Print,  print,  and  print !    Let  pity  be  forgot — 

Let  gentle  mercy  weep,  and  peace  take  wing; 
We  yet  have  strength,  it  seems,  to  bear  our 

lot; 

So  cease  not,  halt  not, — write  up  everything 
That  brain,  or  want  of  it,  can  ponder  o'er, 
And  when  that's  written,  then  write  up  some 
more. 

Bring  out  your  novels — one,  or  two,  or  three, 
Or  ten,  or  twenty — but,  make  haste,  make 

haste ! 


Ii8  THE  OPEN  BOOK 

Blizzards  can't  last,   and  plagues,   whate'er 

they  be, 

Have  limitations  to  their  laying  waste; 
Earthquakes  are  hurried,  and    the  liveliest 

boom 
Soonest  collapses,  to  its  certain  doom. 

So  write,  print,  sell, — do  everything  you  like, 
Or  may,  or  can,  or  must.  .  .  .     But  oh ! — 

the  bliss 
When  heart-sick  publishers  go  out  on  strike, 

And  there  is  suddenly  an  end  to  this — 
No  more  new  books,  what  joy!     Oh,  let  us 

pray 
That  we  may  live  to  see  this  glorious  day ! 


THE  I  OF  ME  119 


THE  I  OF  ME 

WHEN  I,  forsooth,  would  go  prancing  forth 

Abroad  over  field  and  plain, 
These  limbs  of  mine  are  so  slow  and  loth 

I  find  I  must  use  a  cane. 

I'm  as  fond  of  reading  the  daily  news 

As  ever  I  was;  indeed 
Rather  more  than  of  old,  but — my  eyes  refuse — 

And  of  glasses  I  stand  in  need. 

For  music's  exquisite  charm  I  yearn — 

Yes,  just  as  I  used  to  do. 
But  alas,  a  deaf  ear  I  now  must  turn — 

And  not  only  one,  but  two ! 

And  as  for  Beauty,  never  before 

Did  I  yield  to  her  magic  sway 
With  such  vast  capacity  to  adore, — 

But — Beauty  won't  look  my  way. 

Yet,  these  things  prove  Immortality! 

Though  the  body  must  heed  Time's  laws, 
Without  any  doubt,  the  I  of  Me 

Is  as  nimble  as  ever  it  was ! 


120  THE  OPEN  BOOK 


WHY? 

WHY  need  a  pretty  woman  chat 
When,  from  her  sweet  shut  lips, 

A  language  well  worth  looking  at 
In  silent  utterance  slips  ? 

Why  need  a  clever  woman  speak 
Her  wit  or  wisdom;  for 

Each  man  she  meets — dull,  mild,  or  meek- 
Feels  her  superior? 

Why  need  an  ugly — No. — I  fall 

Back  to  one  simple  cry — 
Why,  why  need  women  speak,  at  all? 


There  is  no  reason  why! 


A     000091  517 


